


Thimble

by Oienel



Series: Korean History [1]
Category: Korean Drama, 이조선시대 | Yi Joseon Dynasty RPF
Genre: Conspiracy, F/M, First Time, Internal Court, Joseon Dynsty, Loss of Virginity, Politics, Revenge, optional bias
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9248786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: There is no more horrifing force on Earth than humiliated and furious woman.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am Korean major student, and I am preparing to write a thesis about Women of Joseon, because I simply love Korean History. And so I have quite broad knowledge about women living and working in the palace, and I really wanted to share what I know with you. And that's how I started to write this.  
> Since during that time they mostly used titles to refer to each other, it's easy to make it an optional bias scenario, since Prince's name would not be ever mentioned, either way.  
> It's a chaptered story I am posting on tumblr.  
> There may be some unfamiliar words or behaviors in my work, so please check the notes at the end of the chapter to see my explanations.

_One that has to been accepted, even if His heart doesn’t._

You are not that one. Your father might be a Lord, might be a part of a Western Party, might be an official – but when your mother is a concubine, slave descendant, all of that doesn’t matter. One always inherits the status of the parent coming from the lower class.

And thus you would have never been able to become Crown Princess. You would have never been able to take part in the election process, you would have never been able go through the stages, you would have never been able to wait in your home in the wedding dress, green wedding dress, waiting for the royal order to arrive, you would have never been able to wear the black hanbok with round gold ornaments on your shoulders.

And yet, you are His Majesty’s woman, and you are His Son’s woman. You are Crown Prince’s woman. Now, you may be one of many, but you will become one above many.

For sure.

*

Cyan skirt is brushing the sidewalk,  minute heels clicking on the dark cobblestone. Colorful flower of the palace, feather in the peacock tail, one of the jewels adorning the crown. Smiling, graceful, loyal, beautiful. Such should be palace maid, such should be lady-in-waiting, such should be His Majesty’s woman.

“Crown Prince is arriving.” Voice like a gong penetrates the air. Eunuch’s voice is always like that, and you naturally move down from the sidewalk, to make a way for the Crown Prince. You have learned that. Fast. It took you only one beating from Seo Palace Lady.

Never again have you allowed her to find a fault in your ways, the ghost of the stick on your shins a constant remainder. It’s been years, many years since you entered the palace. At a tender age of 6 years you stepped into palace to become a maid-in-training in the Embroidery department. By day you learned the ways of palace, proper language, classics, embroidery. By day you were engrossed in your learning, never needing to be told twice.

You learned with all your might, you absorbed knowledge in hopes to make your family proud. Having been beaten once was enough for you to perfect every skill needed to survive, to make your Father and your Lord proud.

But being punished only once doesn’t mean that one is perfect. That only means that one is skilled in hiding their imperfections.

And thus you learned not only by day, you learned by night as well. The skill to move around the palace, not being seen; the skill to sneak out of the shared chamber by night, the skill to see, while not being seen, the skill to hear, while not being heard. The skill to be courteous, while not giving a single thought about the person you are courteous to.

You freeze in the bow, only seeing the hem of a black robe. Green robe follows and as the hanboks of lady maids are starting to fill your eyesight, you slowly straighten up.

As soon as the sidewalk is empty you begin your walking once again. Not for long.

“Crown Princess is coming through!” You quickly step aside and bow, and only when your eyes are hidden you allow yourself to roll them. Where the Prince goes, that wench follows. As if marriage of political convenience would mean His Majesty will love her.

Black hanbok with golden embroidery brushes cobblestone and you recognize your own work. You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing how to contain your feelings.

Few years after you started your apprenticeship one of the maids in the tailor’s chamber was expelled from the palace, creating empty spot.

In the internal court there should not be any empty spot.

You are not sure why, but it was you who got appointed in her place. It wasn’t an easy fest, hateful eyes looking at the girl form the embroidery department, wrongfully appointed. Dyeing fabrics is not embroidering, sewing is not putting adornments into the material.

But you are quick and ferocious study. The only thing left in a place like that is to grit your teeth and work your way up.

It was hard, it wasn’t gratifying, it wasn’t comfortable. But it was doable, so you did it.

And now your skill was recognized, your works the most beautiful, your embroidery evoking the most awe.

Procession has already passed, so you can start walking once again. It’s how the internal court works, yet it still irritates you. Getting anywhere is a nightmare, stopping every few meters, because somebody from the royal family is coming through.

You pick up your pace, not because you want to reach the tailor’s chamber, but you don’t want to run into another member of the royal family.

Constant stopping is getting better of you.

“Make a way!” Piercing voice of an eunuch once again attacks you, and you immediately jump off the cobblestone and slide between the buildings. If you are quick enough you won’t be caught, and no one will question why you didn’t stop to greet an elder. And you’ve lived here long enough to be sure that no one will catch you red-handed.

And if they do, you are witty enough to get yourself off the hook.

This time no one sees you, and you pick up your skirt not to stain it with dirt you are walking on.

Internal court is a maze, not designed this way, but years of adding new pavilions made it this way. But to the people living here, it’s not this big and complicated. It is how it is: it’s just a palace.

You finally reach the tailor’s chamber. It’s as busy and as lively as always. There is a smoke coming from the iron vessels used to iron the clothes, young maids-in-training are darning under garments of palace maids in the corner, group of maids are folding freshly dyed fabrics, and Jo Palace Lady is inspecting  red outer jacket with round gold embroidery. Once again, the gold pattern is yours.

“Jeonje.” Palace Lady calls you as soon as you enter.

“Yes, ma’am.” You answer, after shuffling to her side.

“Have you heard that embroidery department is protesting again? Saying that Jeonje shouldn’t embroider His Majesty clothes, since you are the part of the tailor’s chamber.” She says, her finger tracing delicate pattern on the front of the garment. “Choi Palace Lady reported Jeonje to the Overseeing Palace Lady. Which means she reported me to the Overseeing Palace Lady.”

“It’s my fault, ma’am.” You murmur attentively, sighing internally.

“But shouldn’t His Majesty wear the best hanboks possible? Shouldn’t he wear clothes with the best embroidery? The most exquisite pattern?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod, wanting to get over with this. You have heard this song so many times, and you’ve been reported so many times, that you can’t even count them. Usually the problem just dies, since you are the best in embroidery. But once or twice, with the more energetic Overseeing Palace Lady the issue was brought up to the Queen.

Queen as the leader of inner court has an absolute power, her word is law, and as such she should know everything that happens in the palace.

Which obviously means that maids try to keep her in the dark, choosing to solve the problems between the departments. Everybody agrees that this is a wrong thing to do, and everybody agrees that this is a less evil choice. Two times have Her Majesty conducted an investigation concerning the old tailor’s chamber/embroidery department grudge. It took months, both departments couldn’t work freely, most of work halted, not enough place to work, maids spending hours being interrogated. So much wasted time, so much wasted money.

Only to hear the verdict: the problem should be solved between the chambers.

“But if the embroidery made by Jeonje is so exquisite shouldn’t she be a part of embroidery chamber?” Doors open and all the maids halt their activities, running to the entrance to greet person, who enters.  Both you and Jo Palace Lady follows, and every single women in the vicinity freezes in a bow.

You know when it’s acceptable for you to lift your head. You know because you feel how other maids are straightening, quickly touching up their hair or hanbok. After all, this person, wearing black hanbok is one of two man who can be with one of those girls.

You finally lift your head, but your eyes are still fixed on white socks, you can see from under the black hem.

“Crown Prince.” Jo Palace Lady greets him. “What brings you here? If you need our help you could have sent for us.”

“It’s nothing, I was walking by when I heard this old argument.” He answers, a playful tones in his voice. His eunuch clears his throat. As if on cue, every maid bows again.

“It’s our fault, Crown Prince.” Uneven murmur fills the room, anxiety raising. This time none of the girls wants to lift their head. None of them (including you) knows if he is going to punish you? He could have, tired of hearing the same story. But, again, it’s a problem that should not concern him.

“Oh, no, I just came in to propose a solution, no need to fear.” He says and girls slowly start to straighten up. You don’t.

“Solution, Your Grace?” Asks JO Palace Lady, and you feel her heavy glance on the side of your head. Your eyes are fixed on his feet.

“It’s simple. To clench the fire, take away the wood. If you send Jeonje to the embroidery chamber, no one will say a word about her embroidering my Father’s clothes.” You don’t need to look up to know that Palace Lady is choking on air. She wouldn’t give you away.

“But, the thing is not this simple, Crown Prince.” Says eunuch, a hint of reprimand in his voice. He is the only one among staff, who can even try to reprimand the heir to the throne.

“Is it?” Prince’s voice is light, as if he was enjoying himself. Because he is. He always is. “What do you think about it, Jeonje?”

You can’t keep looking at his feet, being asked a direct question, and he knows that. He knows all too well, and you know that he curls his toes, just to taunt you.

You raise your head and look at his face, his pleasant smile rubbing you off.

How much you hate his guts.

“Your grace” you say, eyes fixated somewhere above his shoulder. “Your servant should be there where her work is the most useful. Where she belongs to. Just like a piece on a baduk board.”

It’s a proper answer. The one you learn to give from young age. And it gives you immense pleasure to see Crown Prince’s eye twitch. You managed annoy him while staying polite.

“So, Jeonje, where is your place on the baduk board.” You feel a hint of disappointment, because his voice does not betray his irritation.

“Your Grace, your humble servant is a pawn.” You answer without a pause, lowering your eyes. Which is a polite thing to do, but you know it will spite him.

You can see his chest raising, but he doesn’t sigh audibly.

“I will have my tea here.” His voice is flat, yet decisive. His eunuch tries to protest, but Prince cuts him off.

“Here the Namsan is more visible than from The Little Palace.”

“Your Highness, then please come to the Lotus Pavilion, as the lotus flowers start to bloom. Along with Namsan will present a beautiful scenery for Your Highness to rest and enjoy tea. It is also more fitting place than Tailor’s Chamber.”

You react before you know it, you don’t even need to think about this. It’s just so deeply rooted behavior that you act instinctively. You bow, hearing the rustle of clothes as other maids bow with you. Your voices unite in the murmur.

“Please, do so, Your Highness.”

Prince ignores the pleading and walks straight ahead, wood cranking under his feet, and ladies move away hurriedly with their heads still bowed, to make a way. Prince reaches the other wall and slides both wings of the paper doors open.

There is a Tailor’s Chamber backyard. Freshly dyed cloths drying on the wooden racks, clean clothes on the ropes, laundry in the bowls ready to be washed, laundry paddles laying in the heap on the edge of the pond, but then there is a monumental mountain, perfectly visible above the roof of the next pavilion.

“Bring me tea.” The notion is simple. He is not going to back down. But neither is eunuch.

“Please, Your Grace, this is a workplace. Not only it’s not a fitting place for You, but also Your Highness is going to disturb Palace Ladies’ work.”

“The longer you talk the longer I am going to disturb their peace. Tell them to go back to work, and get one to bring me the tea. How difficult is that?”

You don’t need to check, you know that eunuch is offended. Prince didn’t have to humiliate him like that. Actually it’s a courtesy that should be kept: don’t humiliate your subjects in front of their subjects. That helps to keep the order in the ranks.

And even if right now the ladies from Tailor’s Chamber act as if nothing happened, soon the whole inter court is going to know what happened here.

You know it, they know it, eunuch knows it, and probably even Prince knows it, but the harm has been done. And eunuch should just move on, but the silence is getting longer.

It’s Jo Palace Lady who speaks first.

“Back to work.” And just like that the cyan skirts are shimmering, sleeves are being secured in place with ropes, needles find their way back into skillful hands.

With a piece of chalk in your hand you thank your ancestors for freeing you from this never ending dispute about your place in the palace. You know that soon enough the subject will come back, but for now you can go back to work.

“Jeonje.” Or maybe not. You look up from the green silk you’ve been dying to turn into a jacket. The fabrics is so soft under your fingers and it calls for your attention, but you cannot ignore the voice calling you. Not when it belongs to the eunuch.

“Sir?”

“Get the tea for His Highness.” You send a quick look to Jo Palace Lady, but it’s not like she can object. You bow, seeing Prince already sitting on the blue pillow, with his back to the chamber.

You go out of the room, your steps quick, but quiet. You’ve been given an order, you have to fulfill it quickly, yet with appropriate manner. You step down from the wooden floor, finding your shoes without any problems (which is quite a feast when great majority of ladies in this chamber owns the same exact shoes).

There is humidity in the air, so typical for raining season, clinging to your neck and face, creeping under your skirt. You duck under the tunnel made by pavilion juncture, slowly descending into so familiar maze. You try to stay in the shadow as long as you can, knowing well enough that it will result in you arriving at Prince’s kitchen later than you could have. Especially when you need to cross the Palace to get to the Little Palace, and that is where His Highness’ kitchen is.

You shouldn’t be the one doing that. You should be back in the Tailor’s Chamber, preparing clothes for the Queen for upcoming Thanksgiving. Prince should have come with his maids, not only eunuch, and one of them should be running this errand.

But you’ve learned long ago that nothing is as it should be.

When you entered the Palace, you were training to be a member of the Embroidery Chamber, and yet you are not. When you entered the Palace, Crown Prince was just a boy. Few years older than you, just a boy, a grandson to king, but a grandson from fifth son, concubine son to be exact, with no prospects to ascend the throne. This was a boy you could play around with, the one you could push into a pond, and no one would care, as long as you weren’t seen. The boy that could push you into a cupboard and lock you inside where Seo Palace Lady found you (it was the second biggest scolding you got in your life). He was a boy you would smuggle sweets for, he was a boy that would smuggle you hairpins from outside the Palace.

That is until the late king died, let him rest in peace, and instead of the first son taking the crown, the fifth one did.

One would think that in the country living by Confucius’ ideals that would be an unusual occurrence, and yet it happens a lot. No one will mention that, but since the great Taejo, the founder of your country, only once had a firstborn claimed the crown. Even Crown Prince isn’t a firstborn. He was destined to be a warrior, with his older brother a Sungkyunkwan scholar. But not long before the late king died, his brother was taken by an illness.

And thus the Crown Prince was forced to put down the sword, and to put on the black robes. Suddenly from partners in crime you went to being master and a servant.

And by this moment you were old enough to know what that means. So your excited wave to greet him changed into humble bow, mischievous smirk into polite smile, and sarcastic voice into agreeing murmur.

You’ve reached the kitchen and few words given to the Main Cook Lady was enough to get the room in haze. In the blink of an eye the board with tea and snacks was ready, and few of the younger kitchen maids were fighting between themselves which one were going to serve His Highness the tea.

You don’t roll your eyes, but you politely look away. This competition is still beyond you. But again you very vividly remember the boy that picked his nose and left what he found on the side of the paper doors to the Royal Library.

You still believe that this exactly shows his attitude towards learning.

Finally, after Main Cook Lady intervention, excited maiden takes the board, and finally you can go back to the Tailor’s Chamber. This time you cannot hide in the shadows, as the maid is determined to get to Prince as quickly as possible.

But she does give you a weird look, when you tell her, he will drink in the Tailor’s Chamber. You just shrug, not knowing what is happening either.

When you reach your work place, other ladies in the room are focused on their work, but you can see that they are more delicate and swift with their work. And more feminine than usual. Crown Prince is seemingly focused on the view, his hair moving slightly in the wind, and he seems oblivious to the world around him. Eunuch is kneeling beside him and he is the one to look around when you enter. You bow and Cooking Lady shuffles to Prince’s side, and you go back to your work.

The silk is mesmerizing and you can see all colors of the rainbow in one cloth. You find the scissors and you straighten the fabrics on the table.

“Jeonje!” Your head bounces up, your body alarmed. You weren’t expecting to be called again. This time it’s Prince. You still have the urge to scrunch your face at him, but you know where the boundaries are.

“Your Highness?”

“You were supposed to bring me the tea. And here I am, still waiting.” Only now you realize that the Cooking Lady left the chamber. You can feel the rapt attention the other Palace Ladies give you. You don’t like that, and you are pretty sure he knows it, but you are not going to give him satisfaction, and you are not going to complain.

You move away from your station before Jo Palace Lady or eunuch can nag you, and you go to Prince’s side.

You kneel next to the board and the table he is sitting at, feeling the soft touch of wind on your neck. You take the vessel with hot water and you pour it into the cup standing in front of the Prince. When the cup is warming up, you pour water into to kettle, and you add tea leaves. You are not looking at His Highness, and you know that he is looking at Namsan, but you can tell that his mind is somewhere else.

When the tea is ready, you pour out the water from the, now warm, cup and you pour the tea inside. Crown Prince bows to you, when retrieving his cup, but neither of you speaks.

You can hear the work going on as usual behind your back and you long for your green silk, but you sit silently by his side, pouring the tea, when you see that his cup is empty, and not doing anything else.

Even if it annoys you, you have to admit that it does clear your mind.

He stands up, when he is done, and leaves the chamber without a word, his eunuch trailing behind him.

And both you, and everybody in the room are left with one question.

What has gotten into Crown Prince?

*

This doesn’t feel good. Or right. There is something ominous about this place. Last time you’ve been here, your palace rank was too low for you to enter (unless specifically instructed to), and now your rank is too high to attend the owner of this place.

Your only visit there, was also the last time you’ve seen your father. He was the one to call you in.

As it happens, your only visit there, coincided with the first day of rule of the new owner of this pavilion.

Just like last time the Palace Maids opened the doors for you. Just like last time you saw a young girl wearing black robes. The last time your Lord, you Father was there. He was the one to invite you to sit, he was the one talking. You were politely not looking at newlywed Crown Princess, legal daughter of your Father. She was born to his legal wife, noble descendant. She learned classics and embroidery to be a good wife, while you learned it to be a good servant. As it turned out you learned it so she didn’t have to use her skills.

Servant born will be servant.

Your Father told you not to reveal the blood bonds, told you to be quiet, to be humble, to be your younger sister eyes and ears in the palace.

You solemnly swore to do so, and you went out to never be with the Princess in the same room again.

Neither of you wanted to keep contact, so you didn’t. Her ceremonial robes were usually made by you, but that would be it. You knew about problems in their marriage, but, frankly speaking, who didn’t.

And so, being called to her quarters was surprising. Not pleasantly so.

 She’s gotten older. Her futures became more prominent, but she was still the same freshly faced girl, that came to the palace few years ago.

You didn’t grow up with her. To be honest, she might have as well been a stranger. She was born a year before you were sold to the palace. Not sold. Willingly given away by your Lord, to bring your family honor.

Who would have known that the younger offspring, would be the one to bring the highest honor? Or to be exact, the second highest honor. She has yet to bore an heir. She has yet to become pregnant.

And now, sitting on colorful duvet, stretched over colorful pillows, she looked fidgety. Nervous. Behind the façade of a strong woman, powerful woman, a woman to become the mother of the nation, one could feel the teetering of the woman unsure of her future. Her three silent years were coming to an end, and she didn’t give birth. She was still far away from being deemed unfertile, and sent away, but for a young wife not to have a child within three first years of marriage is unthinkable. It makes her position unstable.

To make the matter worse, internal court is well aware, that Crown Princess isn’t exactly favored by Prince. It’s not like he refuses to share a bed with her. He does. Obediently. Every time Astronomy Department picked good days for conception.

But other than that he never visits her. He never treats her as his precious one.

“Milady.” You greet her, bowing politely. It was deeper than necessary, but you know when it’s better to be safe than sorry. And without knowing why she called for you…

“Sit.” She barks to you, and you slide to the floor, gracefully. There is no pillow left for you, and it’s a slap in the face. You are not a lowest palace lady. You are Jeonje, you belong to the seventh rang, being directly under the Leading Palace Lady, if Jo Palace Lady were to vacate her position as a leader of Tailor’s Chamber, you’d take her place.

And she is still only a wife to the heir. Childless wife.

But you know it’s not your place to voice objections. You answer to the Queen, but she is still above you. And you are loyal to your clan, which (even if not legally) she belongs to.

She doesn’t break the silence, and you sit straight, waiting for her to speak up. She takes her time, looking you over, distrustfully. She pays a special attention to your skirt, but you don’t let that get to you. You know your skirt is impeccable, as a matter of fact, all of your clothes from your socks to your jogori. Who if not ladies of Tailor’s Chamber would have the best clothes out of palace ladies?

“I will require your assistance.” She says in the end, and you just nod politely. It’s what your Lord told you to do.

If your lack of audible answer irks her, she doesn’t let that show. Good. She should be careful not to show her emotions. Not in the palace. Not when her position is so vulnerable.

“There is…” She starts again, and her eyes escape to the left, quickly, as if she was checking with somebody, whether she should tell what is troubling her. You sit calmly. Her eyes find your face once more, checking your skirt again on their way. She takes a deep breath. Mistake, she shows how disturbed she is. “There is a wild story going around.”

“A story, milady?” You ask, keeping your irritation at bay. You have better things to do than waste your time on young girl refusing to tell you why she called for you.

“Yes.” She answers, suddenly getting angry. You can see how her pale face get red under her white powder.” People are saying that Crown Prince favors palace lady!”

That’s a novelty to you. You cannot hide your emotions at this information, and your eyebrow shoots up. You correct yourself immediately, but Crown Princess has already saw that. And she is pleased by your reaction, from what you can tell.

That would explain why she was checking your skirt so intently. You can feel warmth creeping up your spine, and you need to grit your teeth to subdue your growing fury.

She believed it was you. She called you in, being truly, completely sure, that you shared His Majesty’s bed. That you’d wear your skirt flipped, that you’d flaunt the newly gained favor. That you’d treat his bed as an award, as an ascension.

Suddenly you wish you could wear dangui, so you could hide your hands under it. But now you can only put all your strength into keeping them still.

She stretches on her pillows, clearly satisfied. You don’t know the root of her satisfaction, but you are sure that you wouldn’t like it. So you decide not to dwell on that, and to stomach your indignation. You look Crown Princess square in the eyes, and wait.

“Find out who she is.” The command is quiet, but ominous. “Find out who she is, and you’d be awarded.”

_More than you already have been?_

But you say nothing, as you bow in your seat. You need your all reserves not to bow the second time, and you stand up. You take two steps back, to show respect, and then you turn around on your heel, to walk out.

If she was the queen, you’d reach the doors walking backward.

But she isn’t.

Your not-flipped skirt shimmers as you walk down the corridor, your steps inaudible on the wood. The place smells like morus paper, and normally you’d find solace in your surroundings, but the insult you suffered while meeting your younger sister stings way too much.

You know how many of the ladies would cut themselves for a chance to share the bed with Crown Prince.

You’d prefer to be released from your service, so you could go and be wed, but you know that it was not an option. And faced with the fact that your own blood is the future queen, you being a consort would be a grave act of indecency, and your Lord would never allow that.

You reach the entrance to the pavilion, and you step down, slipping into your shoes. Time to go back to your chamber. You still have to sew together the new robe for the king.

And after that you need to find a way to find out who is His Highness’ mysterious lady.

As if you didn’t have better things to do.

*

You are not surprised when your investigation renders fruitless. Getting to the root of the gossip is not easy, especially when you do it half-heartedly. It’s a wild-goose chase after all.

And it’s not even sure that this lady exist. It’s easy to coin this kind of gossip, when Crown Prince and Princess don’t have a child.

And again, gossips come and go, and they are only a way to keep the palace workers entertained, nothing more, really.

“Jeonje!” You allow yourself a quick roll of your eyes, before you turn around, bowing to greet Crown Prince. As usual he ditched somewhere his palace ladies, and you can tell that his eunuch is not happy with that.

“Your Highness.” You murmur rather emotionlessly. Prince doesn’t seem to mind.

“Where are you walking, so deep in thought?” He asks, and you keep your weariness to yourself. He stopped you for so pointless reason?

“I’ve just delivered Crown Princess’ skirt to Embroidery Chamber.”

“Oh, but surely you have ladies-in-waiting to do that for you, so what’s the real reason behind leaving Tailor Chamber?” He says cocking his head. Eunuch behind him shuffles on his feet anxiously. You look at him, considering your options. He caught you, right, and you can tell him the truth, or rather you could answer properly, irking him.

_Oh, how much you like to irritate him._

“Your Grace, I wanted to make sure that the skirt reaches Embroidery Chamber, so ladies can embroider it with utmost meticulousness, in hopes that it helps in conceiving the grandson for our Majesty.” Eunuch coughs when the words leave your throat, getting fidgety. Crown Price stares at you with blank face.

“How thoughtful of you.” He answers finally, stiff, and starts walking.

You are surprised that your words really strung the nerve, but as he passes you, you decide to be daring.

“Your Highness?” You say, and he stops next to you. He turns his head to you, with unreadable expression. “Please, forgive me for speaking up, but the Internal Court is shaken with gossip.”

“What kind of gossip.” He asks, and you see that eunuch steps forward, opening his mouth, probably wanting to stop you from voicing that out. Eunuchs know gossips as well.

“People are saying that Your Highness would be taking new consort.” You spit out, before somebody stops you. The easiest way to verify the gossip is to ask the person involved. Your heart stops, because you know that you’ve overstepped your boundaries, but you wait for your answer.

“I won’t be taking a consort in the foreseeable future.”  He answers and picks up his walking. Eunuch hurries after him, sending you an unreadable look.

You allow yourself to breathe again, only when they disappear behind the corner. That was a little nerve-wracking, but you have clear answer.

 *

You are yanked out of your bedding. You try to scream in surprise, but there is a hand covering your mouth. You try to put up the fight, but it’s incoherent scuffle, since your body is overwhelmed with panic. There are hands on your arms, on your face, grabbing your braid.

You can’t tell how many people is around you, you can only tell that you are being dragged through the corridor. Your calves hit the high threshold several times. You suddenly realize that you don’t see anything, but your eyes are open wide. You emit a terrified, choked wail, which is dulled by the hand on your mouth, and you trash in their hold.

As a reward you get a hit to the back of your head.

You sag, seeing white behind your eyes, but your butchers don’t care, still dragging you. Your feet are getting chaffed, even through soft fabrics of your socks. In your amok you realize that you can feel the breeze on your face, and your legs fall of the stairs – you are outside.

You hear shushed voices, which are definitely feminine. That is no revelation, the justice in the palace is served by women, and to women. In this closed society woman holds the highest power, the executive power, legislative and judicial.

The question is, what have you done to deserve the wrath of the Queen?

They drag you on the gravel, and you lose your socks. Your feet are burning, and you smell the unmistakable metallic scent. It attacks your nostrils viciously, gathering bile in your throat, the dirt and constant friction bites at your wounds.

Suddenly no one is holding you, and you fall forward. Your face hits the ground, because you didn’t have enough time to secure yourself. The grass is soft under your cheek, and the night smells of flowers. You can hear the crackling of fire, hushed voices and distant calls of night birds. Your feet are wet and pulsing, and you realize that you are crying. From fear, pain, humiliation and deep anger.

You don’t get to lay there in the grass for long. You are forced up, and on your knees, your maltreated feet crushed under your body, and you weep. Something strikes you across the face and you let your head lull to the side, trying to subdue the sounds threatening to escape your throat. There are hands under your arms, keeping you upright, and somebody roughly yanks a cloth off your face.

You are blinded by a torch’s flickering light. You start to blink wildly trying to regain your sight, your eyes trying to survey the scene, even before you can see. That’s why you first see a group of palace maids on your right, their faces unfamiliar to you. But they don’t look young enough to be new addition to the palace. That means they are from the department you never really go to.

It gives you quite blatant hint, and as your eyes roll to the center of the scene, to the person in front of you, your sub-consciousness seems to already know who you are going to see.

First you see a hem of black skirt. As your eyes slide up, you see a golden embroidery, done by your hand, and then you look your adversary in the face. Crown Princess looks smug, and your eye twitches. 

At least you know you are going to live through the night. She wouldn’t dare to kill you, in fear of your Father. Not that he loves you this much, it’s just you are useful, and with your skills you bring honor to your family.

And quite nice salary.

In the end you _are_ palace official.

You are ready to point that out, but it’s not smart to poke the sleeping tiger, while sitting in his den, so you shut your mouth, watching your half sister intently.

She stands in front of you, all mighty and righteous – in contrast with the fact that she is doing this to you in secret. If Queen sanctioned your punishment, you would have been punished during the day in the open field, so everyone could see it, so you would become a forewarning to everybody, what awaits for a soul that decides to anger the Queen.

But it’s middle of the night, and she is hiding behind the Southern Pavilion, the one used only for Chinese Envoys, with high wall just behind your back. You suppose that there are loyal maids standing on the corners around this place, watching out for palace guards. You consider screaming, now that your mouth is not covered, but you decide against. It’s better to know Princess’ intentions, before you act. And it’s better not to reveal that card too early. You need to let her speak, so you know exactly, how have you affronted Her Highness.

“I knew it was you. Of course it was you.” Her voice is icy, but too excited, she is too proud of herself. That’s a mistake.

Your legs have fallen asleep, and even without that you feel as if you were sitting on the needles. You are in pain, but you are not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. Or fearing.

You look her square in the eyes, insolently, even if the light from the torch one of the palace maids is holding blinds you and makes your eyes water (even more than the pain does). Your silence and your brazenness seems to be an insult to the Princess, as she grows red under her white powder.

“You acted so coy in my chambers, you acted so innocent, and I allowed you to fool me into thinking that you had no idea about His Highness’ woman.” She laughs, but you can tell it’s done with premeditation. It’s calculated, a part of the show she needs to give to the palace maids. So they believe that what they are doing is right by your laws. It’s not an act for you, it’s a performance tailored to suit the ladies around you. “But I felt something wasn’t right. I felt that under that coy physiognomy hides a sly snake. And I was right! I was right all along, I was right to send someone to tail you!”

Now, that information is quite valuable. Someone staged this meeting, someone wanting to get rid of you. If you weren’t Her Highness’ sister, they would do a pretty clean job. But it also meant that Crown Princess was gullible. Easily so.

Eventually your silence makes her snap. And she lunches forward, grabbing your chin, and losing her coy act, her hanbok shimmering around her as she yanks your head up.

Your spine cracks, and your teeth clash, and she bends down, madness in her eyes, as she unleashes her fury – fury of a jealous, scared and humiliated woman.

“You thought that I would let you take what’s rightfully mine? That I would allow you to be on his side? To bear his children? Know your place, you wench!” She slurs, and her spit hits your face. She is shaking and so she is shaking you as well, and your pain becomes unbearable. 

The bucket of the cold water wakes you up. You are laying on the ground, with your feet covered in dirt and blood, with your head twisted in the weird angle. You spasm, sharp pain coming back in the flash. Your chest is heaving and you take panicked inhales, as hands grab you and yank upright. Your eyes are unfocused, but you will yourself to focus on the Princess’. You will look at her face through this, so your face haunts her in her sleep.

“Your face disgust me. It annoys me. It irks me.” She says viciously. She raises her hand, and one of her maids obediently steps forward with a long rod. It’s the one to brand livestock, and you are drowned in fear so deep that you can’t form a word.

And she knows that. She tastes your fear, as she slowly takes the rod, and she shows the red-glowing end to you. It’s one Chinese character, 妓, gi, prostitute.

“We should inform everybody of your true self, don’t you think?” She taunts, waving the rod. Three maids come with a little blacksmith’s brazier, and Princess sticks the metal character into the flames. Her other hand is on your face, as she surveys your features. “Where should we mark you, so everyone can see it? On the left cheek? Right one?” She turns the rod, and takes it out. You start to tussle, terrified out of your mind. Suddenly you don’t feel your pain, nor you feel the tears on your face, you are just petrified, and at the same time your anger explodes, potent, and blinding, and you swear that you are going to get your revenge.

She smiles at you, and you pick up your fight. Another person rushes to subdue you, because you feel new hands on your shoulders, and you groan out loud.

“No, I think the forehead would be the best place…” Musses Princess’ and you look her in the eyes, focusing all your hatred in this one heated stare, as she levels the rod. Your eyes nearly cross, when you fight with your oppressors, and with yourself as not to look at the character. You keep looking your sister straight in the face, expecting pain, expecting humiliation, expecting smell of burning skin.

There is a loud whistle, and terrified maid appears from around the corner. The commotion arises, as maids turn to her. You feel the that the hold of the maids slackens around your arms. You can hear somebody walking into this direction. More than one person.

It could mean your salvation.

Initially Crown Princess also stopped to look at the arriving maid, who you supposed had a watching duty. But realizing, what you also have just realized, she focuses on you once again. You see that in her eyes, that she is not going to run before she brands you for life.

New wave of terror washes over you, stronger after the initial relief. You trash, yanking your hands. You manage to free your hand, but it brings you forward, face first into the rod. In the last burst of adrenaline your now free hand comes up, and you grab the blazing character, the sign burning into your palm, scorching hot metal acquainting you with a pain you never knew, you never met.

Agonizing howl escapes you, as the smell of burning skin reaches your nostrils. The pain of your maltreated feet, the pain of the deep humiliation, it’s nothing in face of the pain of your left hand being fried on the metal.

Princess yanks at the rod, but you don’t let go. Your resolution is stronger than your pain, and you catch her eyes, full of anger and disgust, before she drops the rod, and escapes from the scene, into the shadows, not to be seen. Other maids scurry as well, and you fall to the ground, finally letting go of the rod, your hand is still burning, and the tears once again come to you, falling down your face. You cry over pain, over your humiliation, over your anger, and the knowledge that till the end of your days you will be wearing a prostitute mark on your palm.

The last thing you see before darkness mercifully takes you, are blue hanboks of palace guards.

*

Your hand is throbbing, your feet are throbbing, your head is simply pounding. You groan trying to turn around, and deciding against it, when you realize that you don’t have enough strength to do it. And you don’t have enough limbs left to help yourself through it, since you cannot search for support in your legs nor in your left arm.

You bite back tears, when you remember about your maltreated hand. You spend enough time crying about it. Since guards brought you to the infirmary you did nothing except for crying. You refused to eat, and had to live through the humiliation of being forced to do so.

You tried to throw it up, you tried to starve yourself, you tried to bite your tongue off, you tried to steal the knife from the nurse, you tried to turn your blanket into ropes to hang yourself. Every try was intercepted and foiled, except for the last one.

But you couldn’t pull it off, with your left hand damaged beyond reason. Every time you’ve tried to grab something with it, you shot the live fire up your arm, bringing tears and clouding your eyes. Also standing up proved to be impossible, so you didn’t even come remotely close to the hanging yourself.

Against your will, you were still alive.

A grunt disturbs your train of thought, and you sigh, eyes closing. You wanted to turn around so you wouldn’t have to face the palace guards, who were bothering you for the past hour. They were leading the investigation on what has happened to you and they weren’t getting anywhere. Surprisingly no witness came forward, so they had to come to you to ask for your statement.

But what where you supposed to tell them? Crown Princess was jealous of you supposedly laying with her rightful husband so she decided to bring you as a whore?

It was the truth, but without a witness it wasn’t the truth you could voice.

So you spend the last hour not saying anything, groaning from time to time, wanting them to get the message and leave you alone.

But they were very persistent, both of them. Which you found uncanny. Why would they try so hard? You were only Palace Lady. Skilled one, right. With quite high rank, yes. But for guards to have this level of interest for a crime that happened to a person without any political power…

This time the other one grunts, and your jaw sets. You won’t be talking to them. You won’t be talking to anybody about this incident. You need to focus on more pressing matters. What will you do from now on?

You are scarred for life, you are branded as a whore. They won’t let you stay in the palace, you have a defect now, and His Majesty’s women should be perfect. Even if they let you stay, you don’t know how that will affect your work. You are tailor, embroider, you live from what your hands make! Of course, it’s a left hand that took the damage, leaving your stronger hand well and unharmed, but you cannot tell how the left one will come around.

But for now you were useless. A blemish on your family’s bloodline. It would be better if you were dead.

It’s not like you could go home, after the receiving the gift your younger sister prepared for you. And you were still on the palace grounds, so you the nurses couldn’t let you die here. On the palace ground only royal family is allowed to die.

One more grunt, and you open your eyes to look at your hand. Covered in ointments and wrapped up in bandages, to enhance the healing process. But no one was stupid enough to even try to tell you that maybe the mark will heal. It won’t. Oh, of course it will heal and stop hurting. But it will be there for the rest of your life, burning you with its shameful meaning.

You hear the shuffling, palace guards has finally given up. They tell you that if you ever want to tell them something they will be waiting and that you have nothing to fear. After that they leave the chamber.

But they weren’t right. You have everything to fear. Your future, for one. Your sister and the plans she might still have for you. Your Father.

Nurse comes in to change your bandages. She is a young, bright woman. She keeps talking, and she looks you square in the face, but her face falls when she thinks you are not looking. She is pitying you.  And you hate that. You hate that, because it means that everybody around you know that during that night your life ended.

You are just a walking corpse, living on borrowed time.

*

“Are you going to wallow in self pity?”

You didn’t hear anyone enter, so you stir in your bedding, surprised. Your feet are already healed, and you are being encouraged to walk around. But you don’t. You don’t leave your chamber. You can’t muster enough strength to face the world.

Your hand is also already healed, but the bandage is still on. Physician decided to leave it. Nurses taught you how to wrap it yourself, so you won’t be going around flashing “whore” to everyone who looks at your hand.

You turn around under your covers to face the speaker. To your surprise it’s Jo Palace Lady, your superior in the Tailor’s Chamber.

You sit up as if somebody put your mattress in flames. She eyes you, not impressed.

“Don’t strain yourself.” She says dryly, and sits down. She looks at you for a moment, as if deciding whether you are worthy being spoken to. Finally she opens her mouth.” I heard that you didn’t talk to the guards.” You take a breath to protect yourself, but next words that she speaks out deflate you. “Good. They are outsiders. We shouldn’t let the outsiders go sniffing around the matters of internal court. And I know it was somebody from internal court. And I know you have a reason to keep quiet. And that’s probably the same reason that made you try to take your own life.” She doesn’t sound condescending. She doesn’t try to judge you, she only states the facts. And it’s a novelty, refreshing novelty, after what you experienced from that feral day. ”I won’t say that living with the mark you have will be easy. It won’t. But consider this: live. Live and strive, to show the people that tried to break you, that you are still alive and strong. Live so you can get your revenge.”

She stops, and looks at you expectantly, but you don’t even know how to react. So she clears her throat, clearly uncomfortable and stands up.

“But don’t think I am doing this for you. I would hate to lose somebody with such talent as you have.”

It brings a smile to your face. Jo Palace Lady may be crude and a bane to your existence, but she cares. And it might be the only strength you have. Her and her words.

She leaves you alone, but you don’t lay down. You think. You think about her words and what they mean to you. You search your soul, looking for the answers, and what you find is anger. Resentment. Hate. Disgust. Your strong yearn for the revenge.

You thought that you were used to your place in the world. That you were content. And you probably have been. But that night brought out your resentment to your position, to your being lower because of your mother’s status, to you being stepped over by people not better than you, but with “better” blood in their veins. The social unfairness which lead you to the situation, where you can’t even demand justice from the person that harmed you.

What you need is power. Power to bring that person down, to make her suffer.

But for a person like you, to find yourself on the equal or the closest to equal you can reach, the way is only one.

It’s not a way, you would have even thought of before that night happened. It wouldn’t consider it even if your wildest dreams. But now not only it was awakening in your mind, it seemed like a good idea.

Not only to get power, but also to bring to life what Crown Princess is fearing the most. To make her live through her worst nightmare.

You stand up. For the first time since that night you feel the wood under your bare feet. Your legs are weak, wean from holding your weight up. Your chamber is dark, because you never bothered to light the lamp, so you need to strain your eyes to see anything. You bring your left hand up, and you search for the end of the bandage. Slowly meticulously, you take it off, revealing more and more skin, until the white cloth falls to the ground, white mark, with skill around it still red, screaming “prostitute” at you.

Your choice is simple, even if the way is not.

You will become the prostitute.

You will sell yourself for your revenge.

You will become His woman.

You will become Crown Prince’s concubine.

And your son, will become the king.

*

You make yourself gloves. Nurses are thrilled that you decide to try to go back to your life, by making piece of clothing, so they fetch you everything that you ask for.

It turns out you can still be a tailor, you can still be embroider, but you need to be more careful. Your left hand, even though it’s able to support your right, it lost previous dexterity and you were terrified to discover that you no longer feel anything in your thumb and forefinger.

You tested it, by pricking your skin with a needle.

It takes you longer than it should. Making the gloves. But on top of your injury you need to be more precise than usual, as you want to make something that would hide your scar from the world, that wouldn’t obscure your touch.

It takes you four days. Four days to make a pair of gloves! It’s outrageous, but you don’t complain, being thankful for a chance to bring back the skills that started to escape you since, you weren’t honing them.

But finally, after seven weeks, you go out from your chamber in the Nurse’s pavilion, after having cleaned it up.

You don’t go to bid your farewells to the nurses that have taken care of you. Maybe it’s shame, but you don’t want to face them. For the first time since that night you are wearing your palace maid’s hanbok with matching wrist-long gloves. You made sure that you look impeccably. As a Palace Jewel should.

It’s early morning, time for palace ladies to go to their respective chambers and start their duties, so you pass many of them on your way to Tailor Chamber. They recognize you and every single one of them seems to be surprised to see you. It’s no wonder, but at the same time you recognize a tale telling signs that there is a rumor circulating about you.

You can take a wild guess what kind of rumor it might be. And who made sure it was circulating.

Nervously you dig thumb of your right hand into your new scar, but you quickly realize that and you stop yourself. You cannot show your nervousness. Crown Princess’ spies have, for sure, already spotted you, and you don’t want them to bring to your sister information that you are afraid.

And then there is a notion that Crown Princess is not the only enemy you have in the internal court. Somebody has fed her the lies of you seducing Crown Prince.

The questions are: who and why. What for? As questions go, this one is easy – to clear you out of the picture.

You reach your work place, and you enter it confidently. The usual chatter immediately dies, only to come back in a higher volume. You ignore the excitement, but you do greet fellow palace ladies.

Your table is just as you left it, with a blue silk ready to be cut. You slowly caress it with your clad fingers, and you realize that it’s not going to work. You need to be able to feel the fabrics.

You realize somebody is in front of you, and you bring your head up. It’s Jo Palace Lady.

“Your Highness is waiting for his new robe. It’s time He got it, don’t you think?” She says dryly, and walks away.

It looks and sounds quite cruel, but you smile, and you take the glove off your right hand, throwing it on the table, and you grab scissors.

*

“Jeonje.” It’s Jo Palace Lady. You turn your eyes to her, needle stilling in your hand. You’ve discovered that you don’t really need to use thimble anymore, but to protect your skin you still do. Your supervisor looks as sternly as usual, but there is a certain edge to it. You can see worry in her eyes.” Queen called for you.”

Once again sounds in the chamber die out, other maids looking up from their works.

Cold shiver goes down your spine. You have vague understanding as to why she called for you.

Jewel with a blemish is not jewel anymore.

You stiffly put the needle and thimble down, taking care of the fabrics you were just working on. As if in afterthought you take the glove from your table, and you put it on, as you walk to the doors. Jo Palace Lady’s teeth are set, as she motions for you to follow her.

As she leads to the Queen you don’t dare to think, you don’t dare to second-guess. If you started to think, you’d drown in your fear for future.

Five times you’ve been to Queen’s chamber, but it’s your first time meeting her in front of it. She,  Queen Dowager, Crown Princess and Suk Bin Nam, King’s current favorite concubine are seated in the sturdy, wooden chairs. Chairs may be sturdy, but they are made with a great precision and exquisite adornments. They are behind the tables as luxurious as their chairs, with nine course meal on top of it.

Both you and Jo Palace Lady slide to your knees, on the white stones leading to stairs in front of this powerful gathering.

It’s your trial.

“Your Highness, I’ve brought Jeonje, as you asked.” Says Jo Palace Lady, as you stand up from your bow.

“Good.” Queen’s voice is pleasant to listen to. Vibrant, like bird’s song.”You may go.”

“Your Highness, please, let me just tell you, that Jeonje’s work in Tailor Chamber…”

“You were told to go.” Says Queen Dowager, indifferent. She is not even looking at you or your superior, focused on her meal.

Your sister is looking at you, with satisfaction oozing from her features.

That would be it for answer, what else she has prepared for you.

Nam Suk Bin straightens in her chair, with a great difficulty. She is in last weeks of her pregnancy, and her belly is swollen. Neither Queen nor Crown Princess seem to be happy about that.

“You have beautiful gloves.” She says, earning herself a discontented stare from Queen. “You made them yourself, right?”

“Thank you, ma’am. Yes, I made them myself.” You answer.

_Make me a pair_ is mixed with _take them off_. Queen and Suk Bin exchange glances, and you know they shouldn’t. It’s not proper to show their dislike for each other so openly, in an open space. Queen seems to be irritated, but Suk Bin is seems to be amused, by the whole thing.

“Yes, Your Highness, yes, ma’am.” You answer quickly, knowing that they would focus back on you, and you’ll become their target. Suk Bin’s eye twitches, and you know that she is not happy that you’ve ended her game.

You look down, to shield yourself from their stares, and you take off your gloves.

“Show your hands.” Order comes from Queen Dowager, and this time she earns a quick glance from Queen. She is not happy that even though internal court is her domain, she cannot stop Queen Dowager from interfering. Queen Dowager, being the oldest member of the royal family, consort of the late King, father of now ruling King.

But she is not mother of now ruling King.

And you do, turning your hands to show their palms. One without blemishes, and the other one with an ugly scar. Your gloves have fallen to the ground.

You are fully aware that when you hold it like this, the character is upside down.

It’s not like you want to show _whore_ to members of royal family.

Queen Dowager inhales slowly, and shifts in her seat.  She seems thoughtful, while Suk Bin cannot hide her disgust. Queen looks like she is still sulking that other woman keep interrupting her, and Crown Princess tries not to look smug.

It irks you, but you’ve spent years in the palace, you know how to keep your face straight. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be subjected to the scrutiny of internal court’s matrons, that shameful night shouldn’t have happened.

You don’t glance at your executioner, because you fear your rage would erupt if you saw her face.

“Does your hand still work?” Asks Queen Dowager, and you hurry to answer.

“Yes, Your Highness, it’s still possess its full dexterity.” You answer, clenching your fingers to prove it. She nods, and as If the matter was resolved she goes back to eating.

“That’s not the case!” Erupts Queen. “Palace Ladies should be presentable, flawless, beautiful, skilled, true jewels of the palace, every one of them should be a living proof of palace’s greatness! And not being branded as a whore!”

It’s a slap to your face. You are branded, but you did nothing to deserve this brand.

“She is not flashing her brand around, she is wearing gloves.” Says Suk Bin dismissively.

You are not surprised. It’s natural that Suk Bin is against Queen, and Queen is against Queen Dowager. And Crown Princess is an natural ally to stranded Queen. So it’s obvious that Queen and Princess will fight to take you out of the palace, while Suk Bin will be against that, just to spite the Queen, and Queen Dowager… That is a question.

“But she must have done something immoral, for one to decide to brand her!” Attacks Princess from the side, and you bite your lips. It takes all your strength not to speak up. And not to scream in anger and frustration.

“And yet you are wearing hanbok made and embroiled by her immoral hands.” Says Queen Dowager, and you glance at Princess. She is red under her powder, embarrassment and anger at being scolded palpable.

_Does she know?_

Looking at Queen Dowager, so indifferent, you realize that she probably does. It’s her job, just as Queen’s to know. Because knowledge is power. Knowing about that night, she can blackmail Princess, she can use her weaknesses against her.

“Won’t it be a pity, to let go of her, when she has such skills?” Asks Suk Bin, with a hint of whine in her voice.

You thank gods for being able to see the look of pure anger on Queen’s face. You know that never again you’ll be graced with such a view.

“And wearing clothes made by a whore suits you.” She growls, and you flinch at how furious she sounds. Suk Bin doesn’t even bat an eye, as if she wasn’t insulted a second ago.

“Do we even know that she is guilty of the sins you are accusing her of?” Asks Suk Bin, sounding bored. “ I say that it might have been as well an act done by a person jealous of her skills. Isn’t Jeonje the one that always sparks quarrels between Tailor and Embroidery Chambers?”

One thing is true in Suk Bin’s words – it was an act done by a jealous person.

“But we cannot just ignore the fact that, from the variety of marks, she was branded with _whore._ Does it not speak volumes about her behavior?” Queen has managed to calm herself, just in time, seeing how her side was losing the dispute.

Which is curious when one realizes that Queen Dowager has not stated her view on this matter.

Nobody speaks up, and you look down, at your feet, realizing that it may be your end. No one is speaking in your defense.  You instinctively start to caress the lines of your scar with your thumb, staring at your gloves, but not seeing them.

What about your revenge?

You are brought back down, when somebody snatches your gloves. You look to your side, and you see Crown Prince slowly straightening, dusting your gloves in the process. He looks calm, and indifferent, but you know him long enough to notice the emotions hidden underneath his physique.

He is _furious_.

“Grandmother. Mother. Suk Bin. Princess.” He greets them bowing politely to every one of them separately. It’s a pointed gesture, unnecessary, unless he wants to flaunt his cool demeanor.

And he probably does.

“Prince.” Answers Queen Dowager, as is her prerogative. She has this slight, indulging smile on her face, as a grandparent seeing their doted grandson should have. Even though Prince is not her grandson by blood. But legally she has every right to consider him her grandson. “We didn’t expect you.”

You can recognize a reprimand when you see one. She is happy to see him, as she will always be, because seeing heir apparent is a sign that dynasty is strong and has future in front of it. But seeing him on the meeting concerning internal court matters, she wasn’t pleased.

Because it was not his place to appear.

Crown Prince, along the King, belongs to outer court. His realm is public one, not private. Women of the royal family belong to the internal court, to the private realm.

You notice a certain distress on Crown Princess face. First you think that she fears being exposed in front of her husband, but you realize that is not the case. She is torn, because she wants to immediately go to his side, and she cannot do so, because open display of affection would be frowned upon by Queen. And to make the matter more grave she is in the middle of a trial, and she shouldn’t stand up until the matter at hand is resolved.

Her unwavering certainty that nobody will know what she had done and that nobody would punish her, wakes known anger inside your gut.

“Prince. I would request you left us, since we have a pressing matter to attend to.” Says Queen sternly, frowning at her only son. She has all rights to request that, she could request that even if the King was standing in front of her. It’s not their domain.

But her son ignores her words, a grave act against filial piety. He turns around to you, and you become guarded. He can help your case, but he may as well send you to the gallows.

And you still need to get your revenge.

Slowly, pointedly, he helps you put on gloves. You do everything you can to minimize skin contact between you – of course you mean to seduce him, but it’s not the right time to try.

When your gloves are back on, covering the mark, he turns around to face his family.

“I am well aware that it is not my place to offer a word of advice, or maybe a word of reason, but allow me to do so.” He says, lacing his fingers behind his back. You realize that he hides them as not to allow his family to see them twitching.

Is it nervousness? Is it anger?

“It came to my attention that you are deciding whether you should dispose of Jeonje. As you all are well aware, Jeonje is a skilled artisan, and I could go into detail how many times Father was delighted to see her artwork. Grandmother and Mother also seem to be wearing clothes with her needle work adorning it more often than others.”

“I am not saying that we don’t appreciate her skills. But one must to remember that was before her hands were branded, thus ensuring that every clothing that comes from her would be marked with the same stigma.” Says Queen Dowager, and your heart sinks. She is also in favor of throwing you out of the palace.

Prince nods, to show that he heard her words, and continues as if she has not spoken a word.

“Thus her crime is to be wearing a mark on her hand. It’s not grave enough to behead her. It’s not grave enough to make her drink poison.”

Princess coughs suddenly at his words. It wakes you up from the stupor you fell into hearing Prince talk about your death. He turns to face his wife, as if sudden sound surprised him. But the movement is deliberate, rehearsed. It looks like he was waiting for her to do exactly that. To react to his words.

“Right.” He says turning back to his Mother. “I have nearly forgotten! Queen, may I please remind you which family Jeonje comes from?” It’s a rhetorical question, and Queen seems to know that, but she has clearly no idea what her son is talking about. What doesn’t come across as a surprise. She was never responsible for recruitment of the palace ladies, and you entered the palace before she assumed her duties as internal court matron. And your Father did a very good job in concealing the relationship between you and your sister.

“Jeonje is a daughter of a head of Andong Clan.” He says, and you can tell that he is satisfied with being able to say that aloud. You take a discreet glance at him, and you get the impression that you are looking at the man that waited years to say that out loud. “Just like my wife.”

There are quiet murmurs of the servant staying in the shadows. Princess once again turns red, and she looks into her plate, Suk Bin laughs, fixing her position is her chair. Queen Dowager focuses her stare on you, as indifferent as usual, and Queen seems stunned.

“This, of course, means that we cannot serve Jeonje poison, unless we want her whole clan to be condemned and thus endanger future heir to the throne.” Says Queen Dowager. She is stating a simple fact, but it sounds like she is impressed. She even nods to Prince to convey that.

“Of course, it means the death sentence is out of the question.” Agrees Queen, giving cold, sideways glance to her daughter-in-law. “But she cannot stay here with this brand.”

“Queen, please, think about the Dynasty. Do we want commoners to know that palace lady, Jewel of the Palace, was whoring herself?” Asks Prince stiffly, and silence fall on everyone present. You can feel blush traveling up your spine, hot and ugly emotions roaring in your stomach. You are not a _whore._ And yet you have to listen to people calling you just that.

_You have a mark engraved in your skin saying just that._

“It may bring grave repercussions for the throne.” Says Suk Bin, toying with her cup.

“And just a moment ago you were protecting Jeonje saying that we cannot prove whether she did that. And now you agree that commoner will see her as a whore.” There is spite in Queens words, but Suk Bin does not flinch.

 “For one, I never said that I believe that she is a whore. I am merely asking you to consider what will subjects see, and how it may affect us.” Once again they all focus on Prince, standing just next to you, firm and unwavering.

There is still hope for you.

*

“You’ve never told anything about that night.”

You are hiding behind the royal kitchen. You found yourself there, after you left your trial.

You were allowed to stay. _You were allowed to stay_. With a condition that you will always wear glove concealing your mark, especially on those rare occasions you will be allowed to travel home. But you were allowed to stay, and you know that without Prince standing in for you, that would have never happened.

You were stiff and stunned when you left Queen’s quarters. Firstly you wanted to go back to the Tailor Chamber, but in your haze you just wandered around the palace until you found a quiet place when you just sat down, shaking with relief.

Until somebody came to disrupt your peace.

You jump to your feet to greet Prince properly.

“Your Highness.” You say, bowing, and feeling dizzy from the quick standing up.

He moves to sit next to where you’ve just been sitting, and he motions for you to do the same. You realize that it’s a perfect opportunity to start your revenge, but somehow it doesn’t seem right.

“You’ve never told anyone about that night.” He repeats himself, and you nod. Your right hand travels to your left to massage the scar hidden underneath fabrics, just like you’ve become accustomed to. “Why are you keeping silence?”

The smell of burning skin and excruciating pain suddenly comes back to you, and you have to keep yourself from throwing up. It only serves to fuel your pain and rage.

“I know that perpetrator is from within the palace. And I know for sure that you don’t deserve to be wearing this brand, and I know that it was probably intended to burn into your features. And that you know why it happened.”

You bite back a bitter laugh. He was always observant, yes, but never as intelligent as his deceased brother. There is a reason why he was being prepared to be a warrior and not a scholar.

“I didn’t see anything. I had my eyes covered, Your Highness.” You say quietly. You won’t say anything until you have enough power to bring that wench to justice. So, not in the close future.

“You had your eyes covered and yet you managed to stop the person from hurting your face with your hand?”He asks, and it irks you that he suddenly proves to be more observant than you gave him credit for. But you say nothing, looking ahead. You feel him watching you, until he sighs. “You won’t say anything about the motivation of your perpetrator?”

You nod, even before you know it.

He immediately turns to you, his hanbok hitting side of your leg as he does so. There are fingers on your healthy hand before you can comprehend what has happened, and he is speaking urgently.

“So you must know. You know who and how.” He is speaking urgently, pleadingly, but you are focused on his face and his calloused fingers on your hand. “Allow me to pursue them. Allow me to find them. Allow me to punish them.”

It feels weird. It feels wrong. The last time your hands touched was before he became heir apparent. You were children. And you’ve never imagined that you’d touch his hand. You wouldn’t dare to, and now he was holding your hand with incomprehensive level of desperation. He was pleading you to punish those who have harmed you, he, the future king, was asking. A mere servant. He was asking for a permission to avenge you.

You can hear the blood flowing in your ears, the delicate shimmer drowning out the background noises.

Is it _love? Are you loved?_

No one teaches love. No one tells how to recognize it, how to fuel it nor how to calm it. No one shows how it should look like.

In your country, there is no such thing as love.

Oh, of course there is a love between King and his subjects. You can see it in benevolence and in loyalty, in rightful laws and vassal pledges. There is love between friends, love between colleagues, and the one you got to experience, love between child and parents. Even if it was brief, you experienced warmth of your Mother’s embrace, and wrinkles in the corners of your Father’s eyes when he smiled at you.

You guess that romantic love should be similar to those. There should be warmth, happiness, loyalty.

But you see desperation and urgency, and still your mind is telling you that what you see is a by-product of _love._

“Your Highness… Sir.” You manage, but his eyes are searching your face pleadingly, and you can’t stand his scrutiny, so you look down, at his fingers encircling yours.

But if it isn’t love… Then what is it?

“Jeonje…” He calls for you, but you refuse to look up. You are not only trying to discern whether he feels something for you, but you also need to decide where it falls in your plan for the revenge.

He is still holding your hand. He wouldn’t just do that for any servant.

“Jeonje… I just can’t stand to see you suffer.” He whispers, and it’s a declaration so baffling, that you look up. He is still staring at you, eyebrows furrowed, and looking troubled. Pained.

There is an intense feeling hidden behind his eyes, and you decide to trust it. You decide to believe that he may have feelings for you.

“Your Highness…” Eunuch’s voice reaches your ears, and both of you jump to your feet. You take a step back from Prince, just in time to see eunuch take the corner, with a maid walking after him. Prince looks embarrassed and irritated, but he quickly schools his face.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice no longer wavering. Maid stops and bows to Prince.

“Your Highness, Her Grace, Suk Bin, has asked to see Jeonje.” She says, and you straighten surprised. Royal Concubine wants to see you? Why? Prince seems just as surprised as you are.

“Oh, well, then by all means, take her. You can go.” He dismisses you without a pause, and nods at his eunuch and walks away. Quickly. Too quickly. As if he was escaping. Hs eunuch needs to trot after him, and so have his attending ladies.

*

“Jeonje!” Greets you Suk Bin, as soon as you enter her quarters. She is spread on her duvet, belly pushing out the hanbok.

“Your Highness.” You greet, bowing.

“Come, come, sit down!” For a person in her last weeks of pregnancy she is energetic, but her belly stops her from moving around. And she sees you assessing that, because she speaks up again. “Few more weeks and I won’t have to go to toilet every hour.”

“Your Highness, you are bringing honor for King and for this nation.” You say, bowing again, knowing that it’s just an overused phrase. Suk Bin snorts.

“I am bringing myself a shield. Hopefully.” She says, and you bow, recognizing the meaning behind those words. Childless King’s woman is vulnerable. Any kid would do a trick, but boy… Boy is a shield for his mother. Especially in the palace. The prospect of her bearing a son is probably tormenting Queen in her dreams. Son will give her a shield, but at the same son will give her a way to try and seize power – endangering Crown Prince.

Bed chamber’s politics.

“You probably wonder why I’ve called for you.” She states, and you stay silent. No point in admitting obvious. Suk Bin seems to recognize that, and she smiles. “I tend to forget that Palace Ladies have better skills in terms of keeping their emotions to themselves.”

Some concubines come from the Palace Ladies’ ranks, some are chosen outside of palace and send in to warm King’s bed. Those from the outside are usually a bit more crude than it’s acceptable in the palace.

Suk Bin is from outside.

“As you can guess, I did not send for you to ask you to make me gloves. Although I expect them to arrive by next forenight.” She says, and smiles making sure that you know it’s a joke. But you are still silent, waiting for her to finally tell you what are you doing in her chambers. “I called for you to ask, when and how are you going to get into Crown Prince’s bed chamber.”

You are stunned. You are speechless, and you can’t keep your face straight. And Suk Bin sees your bewilderment.

“We all saw how he came to Queen’s chambers to rescue you. That’s quite blatant confession if you ask me.” She says as a way of explanation. You can feel yourself getting hot.

“Your Highness… I – I have no idea what are you talking about…” You stammer, shifting in your seat, uncomfortable. You are thankful that you are alone in her room.

“Please, Jeonje, you aren’t stupid. And if you weren’t plotting how to seduce Crown Prince right now, you’d be very stupid.” Suk Bin huffs irritated.

“Your Highness, I am only a maid…” You say, even though it’s a bullshit reason. And even you know that. But you can’t just tell a senior member of the inner court, that yes, you’ve been thinking about seducing Crown Prince, but you haven’t come around how to do it. Because truth be told, you have literally no experience.

“As if that haven’t happened before.” Suk Bin rolls her eyes, and bends forward as far as her belly allows her to. “It doesn’t matter who you are, if Prince is interested. No one would dare to say a word against you. Not if the senior of the royal family is behind you.”

The initial shock has already worn off, so you can go back to your guarded self, emotions once again hidden behind a mask. But it doesn’t matter, Concubine has already saw you flustered.

“Don’t you want power? Don’t you want to change your status?” She tempts. “Seduce him, make him love you, enter his bed chamber, give birth to his son. Give birth to his first son. Give him an heir.”

*

_Give him an heir._

That was your plan. That was a stepping stone of your revenge. Suk Bin didn’t need to tell you that. It would have been better if she didn’t.

Palace is about politics. No one does anything without trying to gain something for themselves. So Suk Bin would not call for you nor would he encourage you, if there wasn’t anything in this for her to gain.

Your conversation showed what is the most important thing for Suk Bin – power. And she wouldn’t stop until she got it. That means her ultimate goal would be bearing a son, and placing him on the throne, meaning that she would have to push Crown Prince out. Strip him off his title.  And the enthusiasm with which she was trying to push you into Prince’s embrace could mean that you could be a reason for Crown Prince’s demise.

At the same time, she might have been acting like that to spite Queen.

Both are highly possible.

If the latter was true, that would mean that you had an influential, even if a little crude on the side, ally in the palace. If the former was true, you’d have to prepare to take Suk Bin down along your way.

And you’d begin to notice that you would be willing to do that.

But first, you have to see Crown Prince.

Normally you wouldn’t do that, normally you wouldn’t be so daring, to just go and request an audience in Prince’s quarters. But with the meeting you had with him behind the kitchen and the meeting with Suk Bin in your mind… You decided that you can allow yourself to step over that particular line.

Eunuch lets you in, but as soon as you step inside, he and attending palace lady step out, closing the doors behind you.

Crown Prince is sitting behind his wooden desk, books stacked on top of it, and he is staring at page of an open book. He appears to be reading, but his eyes are not moving – and you know that he is trying to appear busy.

“Your Highness.” You say and bow. When he doesn’t acknowledge you, you sit down, lacing your fingers, your gloves shimmering.

The room is silent, except for regular turning of the pages. It seems like Prince is counting in his head before he turns page, because his eyes aren’t moving, and the intervals between turns are too regular to be natural.

But you don’t disturb him, opting for looking at him. You search for the boy you used to play with. You find him in his eyebrows, you find him in the shape of his lips, in the scar on his hand that he earned after you tried to escape from the palace through the wall. But other than that you don’t see the boy that locked you in the cupboard, you see a man. You see it in his jaw, you see it in his shoulders, in his hands and its long fingers.

A man belonging to your sister.

“You’ve asked for an audience, and yet you say nothing.” Finally Crown Prince breaks the silence, sounding indignant. He looks up from his book, and you suspect that it was supposed to be brief, but his eyes stay on your face.

You don’t know what prompts you to do that, but you bite your lip and look down, feeling how warmth is creeping up your spine. But you are not sure, if you are embarrassed at what you did or maybe your body decided that you need a little more color on your face.

“Yes, Your Highness.” You say, coy. Not like you. “I just forgot to thank you for being on my side today.”

Prince coughs, and looks away, flustered.

“I am always on your side.”


	2. Chapter 2

How unpredictable is fate. And how unpredictable people make it.

The barest action can make a ripple effect that will go and go, until it comes back to attack the first person that moved the water.

Your sister. Crown Princess. If it wasn’t for her jealousy and her fear, and her deep affection for Prince, wouldn’t have set out on a mission to find supposed lover of her husband. She wouldn’t have become convinced that you are the lady that warms his bed during the nights. She wouldn’t have tried to disfigure your face with a branding stick. You wouldn’t have fought, you wouldn’t have damaged your hand, you wouldn’t decided on getting your revenge on her, you wouldn’t have been subjected to Queen’s trial, Prince wouldn’t have come to your help.

In a way, Crown Princess brought the two of you together. She gave him a way to confess, and she gave you a way to act upon your rage.

It doesn’t matter anymore that you don’t know how to seduce, that you’ve never learnt subtle ways of allure, you’ve never been told how to woo, how to court.

It doesn’t matter, because you don’t have to make him fall in love with you – he did that work for you.

And you just need to let him act upon it.

“Your Highness…” You whisper, not even knowing why you are whispering. Maybe you were scared that louder sound would startle him, that it would break the thread of understanding.

His eyes snap to your face and fixate on your features. It’s unnatural for you to be looking royal family’s member straight in the face, boldly, daringly. Even though he is the boy you were playing with when you were younger, it’s still hard to fight with habits that you’ve learned for fifteen years. You experience it nearly as physical pain, trying not to let yourself look down at the table or his hands or the embroidery on his black hanbok, like you are used to do, like you are obliged to do.

The strain makes you grow warm, color creeping on your face.

“Jeonje–“ He whispers and he bends forward, break the decorum, as he extends his hand to you.

You look at it, palm bigger than yours with pronounced lines, and net of bluish veins, and long calloused fingers, a palpable sign of his past, where he spent his days outside learning the ways of sword and honing his archery skills.

His extended hand is a sign, a cornerstone. It marks your transition from palace lady, satisfied with her place in life, without grudges, to woman ready to take on palace politics, ready to avenge yourself.

You thought about it. You toyed with the idea for so long, weighting your Father’s disapproval, weighting the opposition and conspiracy you are going to face, and still your heart tells you that you have no other choice. Not now. Not anymore.

So you lay your hand on top of his, feeling hard uneven skin under your own not so soft fingers. You observe your hand as Prince moves his thumb on top of your hand starts caressing your skin. It’s small gesture, but intimate, and it makes you uncomfortable.

You look up, and you see him, looking at you, broad and bright smile adorning his face. He is no longer forlorn. He finally looks free and at peace.

And it makes you even more uncomfortable.

*

You start your next day sketching on silk to make gloves for Nam Suk Bin. It’s surprising how everything changed for you, and yet everything is the same.

Yesterday you’ve became Crown Prince’s woman, and today you are still in Tailor Chamber, sewing clothes for royal family.

You are well aware of the curious glances you get from other seamstresses in the chamber. Every time you catch one of them, they would panic and suddenly go back to their work, and every single time you have to remind yourself that they are curious, because of the trail, and not because you held hands with Crown Prince.

You are not yet ready to show the world that you’ve earned his favor. There is more than one reason for that: first and foremost, you are simply embarrassed to do so. This notion is still weird and unnatural to you, and even thinking about that makes you bothered. But other reason is not that simple – you are vulnerable. Before you disclose your new position, you need to make sure that you are protected. Prince’s favor or not, Palace Lady is disposable.

Special Palace Lady would be safer. Of course, the best course of action would be to become royal concubine. But it would put you under Crown Princess direct supervision. Prince’s concubines answer to his first wife, namely: Crown Princess.

Your chalk lands on the table with audible thud, when you realize that you won’t be able to be appointed Special Palace Lady. Not because opposition, nor because it’s Queen’s prerogative, but because Special Palace Lady is a lady that has bedded King.

So as long as King is alive your position will be quite vulnerable, unless Princess appoints you Prince’s official concubine.

And you are quite sure that Princess would rather die than appoint you.

“Your Highness!” You immediately look up, and there he is. Crown Prince has once again came to visit Tailor Chamber. Every person inside stops whatever they were doing, even if they were just in the middle of dyeing fabrics, and they all hurry to the entrance to form two rows of bowing servants. You also hurry to take your place in the row, and you freeze in a bow, feeling warm.

It’s a rush of adrenaline, and excitement, and certain pride, because you know that he came here just to see you.

“Your Highness, you should have sent a word if you needed our assistance!” Gushes Jo Palace Lady, and you slowly straighten along with the rest of girls. You can see them smiling and trying to discreetly straighten their clothes, and it leaves you… Satisfied.

“I should have, but I was walking back to Little Palace, when it occurred to me that I could use new training attire.”

“Training attire?” Confirms Jo Palace Lady, and once again, like million times before you are reminded that Palace etiquette makes one sound like idiot.

“Yes, training attire,” confirms Prince. “I may have overused the last one I received, and now it’s to used to suit my position.”

Meaning that he simply ripped one of his sleeves. You can feel the giggle filling the room, even though all maids are quiet.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Jo Palace Lady bows obediently. “Do you want us to design a new piece, or rather you’d like a copy of the overused one?”

That question seems to have startled Prince, because you can see his face showing the signs of trouble. You have a barest idea what this whole ruse is about, so you decide to be daring.

As you did so many times during last twenty four hours.

“Your Highness,” you speak up, and both Jo Palace Lady and Prince focus their stares on you. You can also feel other maids react. “I apologize for speaking up, I just wanted to say that if you weren’t satisfied with my last design I would be happy to make a new one.”

You are polite, but urgent, with head bowed low. As you thought Prince jumps to grab a chance that you have presented before him. Just as you thought – he wasn’t sure who did the last one, nor who would be responsible for sewing the new one.

“Great, Jeonje, I will leave you to it.” You bow once again, to signal that you’ve understood. “Oh, right! But I think that the last one was too tight in the shoulders, so prepare to take measurements. I will be waiting for you in the Little Palace during Monkey hour. So, back to work.”

All of the girls (including you and Jo Palace Lady) bow, as he takes a step back and goes out. Jo Palace lady eyes you for a moment before she hurries maids to go back to their respective stations. You don’t need to be told, and you pick up your chalk.

Four hours to go.

*

As it turns out the excitement you felt when Prince entered the chamber have stayed with you for the rest of those four hours, making it impossible for you to work on the gloves.

You aren’t even sure whether it was excitement or anxiety, because you don’t have a slightest idea what will happen when you enter Prince’s chamber.

And at the same time, you are not afraid to do so.

It’s weird for you to pack measuring tape in straw basket, since it’s been so long since you did that. You are Jeonje, your rank is too high to be taking measurements. Even if it’s Prince’s measurements.

But no one can complain when Prince is giving you a direct order.

However, one thing worries you. Gossips. Will gossip start? Will palace workers decide that what happened in Tailor Chamber is worthy of becoming a gossip?

Time will show.

When you arrive at his chambers your heart is beating fast in your chest, but you don’t let yourself show that. Prince’s eunuch barely spares a glance at your basket filled with supplies, and just urges you inside.

Just like yesterday, he makes sure that you and Prince are left alone in his room. Just like yesterday Prince is sitting behind his desk, with an open book in front of him, but unlike yesterday as soon as the doors close behind you, he springs to his feet, black gambol shimmering, and he nearly tackles the desk in his haste to get to you.

There is arm on your shoulder blades and the other one on the small of your back, forcing your buffy skirt against your body, and your body against his.

You let the basket fall to the group, your supplies spilling on the wooden floor.

He is warm and smells of earth and morus wood, and you realize that is the first time since you entered palace that somebody is hugging you.

“It was barely few hours without you, and yet it felt like eternity.” He whispers against your hair, and your heart sinks.

There you were, warm and basking in his presence, but his words, even though meant to be loving, brought you back to Earth. You are not here to enjoy, you are here to work.

_Give him an heir._

It’s warm and comfortable. Peaceful.

And awkward.

It takes you longer than you’d care to admit, to try to somehow reciprocate his hug. It’s an action well though-out, pros and cons weighted carefully, so you can choose best way to behave.

And here the best you can do is to try to imitate his actions.

So you slowly, maddeningly slowly, raise your hands, allowing yourself to fist your fingers on the back of his exquisite hanbok. You know the texture, you’ve touched it so many times, and the edge of the golden (you can see it in your mind) round embroidery is as familiar.

He reacts tightening his embrace, and your eyes start to blink wildly, the only sign of distress you can allow yourself. You are not accustomed.

Finally he back away, looking at your face, his eyes following the lines and the shadows, and you still your eyelids, looking back at him. He is handsome, no point in denying that, even if in this slightly boyish fashion, certain asymmetry of his face being his hidden asset.

He raises one of his hands to put it delicately on your face, rough fingers alien on your skin, and he brushes his thumb across your cheekbone. You look down, escaping his gaze, not being able to stand his _loving_ gaze anymore.

You feel dirty using his feelings.

And maybe he feels that. Maybe he does, because his other hand drops from your back, and a lighting of panic surges through your veins, a terrible fear of being exposed invades your mind, but then Prince grabs your hand, left one, the injured one, and he brings it up, taking the glove off, until he can see the mark.

You whimper, closing your fist – relived that you were not yet exposed, and uncomfortable that he is reading the _whore_ off your skin.

He forces your fist open. He is not rough, he is not using force, but he is relentless and demanding and soon, the white scar is clearly visible, even if upside down.

His black hanbok shimmers, when be bows down, lifting your hand up. They meet in the middle: your scar and his soft lips.

“Your Highness…” You whisper, the sound choked, since you don’t even know how to react, warmth creeping up your spine and cheeks. He moves your hand north, and he rest his forehead against it, your middle finger on the bridge of his nose.

He sighs. Long and weary.

“Jeonje.” He answers your call, with changed voice, uneven and wavering.”Jeonje, I am sorry. I am so sorry, that I couldn’t protect you, that I wasn’t there to stop…”

His voice breaks at the end of the phrase, and he sighs, back shaking.

You know that he is upset, and he means his words, but it’s hard to listen to them, when you know the culprit, and you know that it’s indirectly his fault as well. And you’ve never been the one to lament things that cannot be changed. No use, right?

It’s better to focus on the future.

“Your Highness, I am sorry that I made you worry about me.” You say, as you were thought to do. You shouldn’t make anybody worry about you, and if you do, you should apologize.

The words, even if not exactly truthful, do the trick, Prince straightens, and composes himself.

He wasn’t crying, and you are thankful for this small blessing.

“I relish every second I spend worrying about you.” He answers with all sincerity he can gather, which is not a lot, for a person that is bond by conventionalities. Which is still way more than you can do.

There is no such thing like sincerity in the internal court.

“Sit.” He says, and in contradiction to his words don’t allow you to sit, where you’ve been standing this whole time. He leads you to his desk, and behind it, and he forces you to sit next to him, on his mattress.

A place where even Crown Princess couldn’t sit. Especially not next to him.

“Your Highness.” You try to protest, weakly, but he silences you, and just rests on of his hands on your side, and  keeps you close, as the other one brings book he was reading back to him.

“Will you keep me company?” He asks, turning his head to look at you, face unguarded, and you smile at him, you hope – fondly, and nod.

He starts to read, which turns out to be really boring for you. You get to sit, in his seat, in his chamber, surrounded by luxury, and being hold against his side with a protective hand above your hip, and nothing happens.

Nothing that could help you along the way.

You try to tell yourself that you need to be patient, and wait for your chance, but you find it hard to achieve. Patience seems to be escaping you.

“Your Highness!” It’s eunuchs voice, ringing loudly, and it startles both of you.” Crown Princess has arrived.”

Your heart skips a beat, in utter terror that engulfs you in a mere second. You jerk in Prince’s hold, flight instinct turning on, but Prince doesn’t budge.

“I am not to be disturbed!” He answers loud enough to be heard through the doors. Everybody knows, you and Prince in the room, and people outside it (Crown Princess included) that even though he was speaking to his eunuch, words where directed and Princess.

“Your Majesty, Prince, it’s me, Crown Princess! I’ve came to see you.” You jerk again hearing her voice, and you look pleadingly at Prince.

You don’t want to be depended on him, but until you gather enough strength to be able to stand on your own, Prince must be your pillar, your sword and your shield.

  
“I am not to be disturbed!” Prince repeats with a hint of irritation in his voice.

You hope that Princess wouldn’t be brave enough to dare to ignore her husband’s words.

“Prince, you would use a breath of a fresh air and a walk to calm your mind and refresh the body. You can’t spend your whole time in your chambers.”

“Your concern has been noted, my wife, but I don’t have time now to humor you.”

It’s cold. Knowing that their relationship is not good is one thing, but hearing it in person, how cold and indifferent Prince is, is another story. You needed to stop yourself from flinching at his words. The phrasing he used, the vocabulary, the tone, it was all aimed to hurt and ridicule.

Somehow, even the _my wife_ sounded like an insult.

Which made you wonder.

What did Princess do to deserve this treatment?

Answer doesn’t come.

You turn your head to look at him, and Prince is already back to reading, his jaw set, and eyes unmoving – so he is only pretending to read.

As you thought, his own words and his own hateful feelings disturb him.

So once again you become brave, determined to help him to calm his heart.

You shift slightly, one of your legs, coming to rest on top of his thigh, your cyan skirt contracting with his black robes, and you reach out, your healthy hand finding his jaw, and you turn his head to you.

It’s daring, and dangerous, but it’s nothing compared to what you are planning to do. He looks at you with his eyes wide, and unreadable expression, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the trepidation of your heart, and you move forward to plant a swift kiss on his forehead.

It’s a barest touch of your lips, just a motion, an imitation of a kisses you received from your mother when you were young. It always calmed you, and made you feel loved and safe.

You’ve overstepped your boundaries, but with so many already passed, one more is nothing. You guess you should get accustomed to that, because you are bond to overstep many in your future.

Even the closest one, as Prince proves, his hands finding your jaw, and he answers your chaste, loving kiss, with a kiss of his own – the claiming, demanding one.

His upper lip fits perfectly between yours, and you whimper, when his mouth closes on your lower lip. You don’t know how to react, so you just shut your eyes, and you allow your hands to fist on Prince’s black clothes. His thumbs are caressing your skin, when he backs away a little to kiss you again. He teases your lips with his own, and with his teeth, and you are getting flustered, not knowing what to do, how to react, how to answer.

So when you try to mimic him, for the first time, your teeth shyly grazing his lower lip, he groans, and you feel a touch of wet on your lips.

_Is it his tongue?_

Your non-existing experience is obscuring your way, you have no idea how to proceed, but when persistent muscle dips between your lips, you have only one thing you can do.

You slide your mouth open.

And that is the moment when magic starts. In mere seconds you feel overwhelmed, in dire need of oxygen, hot, and like you’ve discovered way to eternal happiness.

When you start to see colorful patches behind your eyelids from the lack of air, he moves away, and you take a gulp after gulp of air, face flushed, and feeling completely out of your depth, but eager to discover what the deep water is hiding.

You open your eyes, curious, to look at his face, and you can see the tint on his cheekbones, and nostrils flaring with every hard-earned breath, and eyes staring intently into your face, as he brushes loose curls out of your forehead.

You speak up first.

“Your Highness. I am sorry, but I believe that Jo Palace Lady and other maids will notice that I am gone for so long.” You say, kicking yourself mentally as you do so. Somehow, you don’t want to go.

“Nonsense.” He snorts, and you wish you had his confidence. But you were born a woman, so you must fight to earn it.” Eunuch Hong will take care of it.”

“I will, Your Highness.” Eunuch’s voice startles you, and the realization that he can hear everything that is happening in Prince’s chambers makes you uncomfortable. Which is stupid, because you knew that from the first day in the palace. Paper and wood is not the best insulator. “I will send to kitchen for night snacks as well.”

“Do so.” Orders Prince, absentmindedly closing his book. Answering _yes, Your Highness_ comes, and you can hear steps fading away.

_Night snacks._

It sounds ominous, it sounds scary.

But in the end, it’s the thing you need to do, it’s a thing you decided to take upon yourself.

And you are not going to waste your chance.

So you wait.

Your poor heart is beating so hard in your chest, that you  fear it might fail you. You try not to gawk, but somehow your eyes keep finding his face.

You are sitting back on the pillow, on the other side of his desk, hands folded on your lap, and he is back to his reading.

Except he is not, because more often than not, when you look up, his eyes are already on your face. Neither of you drops their gaze, no reason to by shy left. You may be anxious, but you’ve already decided and you can’t wait to proceed.

“Remember how you pushed me into pond behind Royal Library?” It’s a sudden sound and even more sudden question. Of course you remember that, it’s one of your fondest memories. You don’t remember what made you do that, but you remember the feelings that filled you back then. The boiling anger, succeeded by a spike of fear, when he wasn’t resurfacing, the glee when he finally resurfaced wet and with straws in his hair, looking ridiculous, not like prince should, and then adrenaline spike when he splashed water trying to get you wet.

It was few months before his Father ascended the throne.

“Yes, Your Highness.” You answer, this time not acting coy. You are just curious, why he mentions this now. In such a moment.

He smiles, looking somewhere above your shoulder, seemingly lost in his memories.

“You looked so fierce and beautiful, when you attacked me.” He is smiling indulgently, as he talks. His voice is soft, warm, and you observe him, thumb of your right hand digging into your scar. Somehow you know what he is going to tell you, and you are not sure whether you want to hear it. “I knew it back then. I knew it as water engulfed me.”His eyes gain focus, and he fixates on your face, so brazen and _grateful_.” I knew that I want you to become my wife.”

“Your Highness, your grace is–“ you bow and start saying those words, as you’ve been taught to. Right now it serves you as a so needed shield, because you don’t know what you could say to him.

“Stop.” He growls, and your eyes snap to his face, there is a hint of irritation there, but his _eyes_ … His eyes are pleading.”Don’t. Just… Don’t.”

“Your Highness…” You try again, uncomfortable.

“Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to be here, because I am heir apparent. I don’t want you here, because you can’t say no to me. You can. You should. If you don’t want me, you should say so, and go. I won’t hold it against you, because I care about you… It will hurt, but I will take it. Because right now I am not Crown Prince. Here I am, baring myself in front of you, as a man – asking. Confessing.”

He doesn’t look desperate as he drills holes into your face. He looks pained, and hopeful, but not desperate – and you school your face, hiding behind mask you both know all too well.

You need it to mask your reaction – but you are not surprised, you are not moved, you just find him ridiculous. He is always _Crown Prince._ How can he even phantom coming to you just as a _man_? Even if he can think that he can shed his status, even for a short while, you are not privileged to do the same. You are low-born, you are not allowed to forget about it, even for a second.

He claims that he cares about you, and then he forces you into this precarious position, knowing that you are not allowed to have your own opinion.

“Your Highness…” You start once again, and his eyes squint with irritation, and you hurry to speak up before he does. You don’t have to think about it – you don’t love him, but you want to be here. You are going to do everything in your power, to keep being here. “I want to be here. With you.”

You tell yourself that this is not a lie, when you see how his face lights up. It is not a _lie,_ you _want_ to be here. But not for the right reasons.

“Your Highness, it’s Eunuch Hong.”

“Enter.” Even as Prince speaks, he keeps looking at you, once again content, and indulgent.

Eunuch Hongs enters without any maid accompanying him. You turned to see him, and you see that there are no usual maids standing in front of Prince’s doors. Except for Prince’s attending lady no one is outside.

Eunuch places table with few snacks and tea next to Prince’s studying desk, and bows and, as quickly as possible when walking backwards, leaves the room.

The sound of door sliding shut is drowned out by blood humming in your ears. Anxiety and anticipation is back, but you boldly look up to set your eyes on his face. Prince’s nostrils flare, and if you didn’t know better, you’d have thought that you’ve finally crossed the line, and this time you are not going to get away with that.

But you do know better, and when he stretches his hand to you, just like he has previously done, you take it. He helps you up and around both tables, and onto his mattress. You sit down in front of him, and he frees your hand, his arm coming up to caress your cheek, and the other one finds ribbon tying your jeogori together.

Your breath hitches when he pulls it, and unties the fabrics. His hands land on your shoulders, his warm, calloused fingers on your skin, and he pushes the piece of clothing off your body, making you shiver as it slides down your arms.

He inhales sharply at the sight of your bare shoulders, and clavicles and the skin, that disappears under the skirt tied tightly around your breasts. His fingers glide down your shoulders and arms, leaving raised hairs in its wake.

His desire, his _fascination,_ is palpable. His hands find yours and he brings both of them up, and kisses every single one of your fingertips, and you hiccup quietly. He motions for you to take off his hat, and you have to move forward to reach it. You kneel, your upper body pushing into his personal space, as your hands grab his sturdy hat, and you lift it, and that’s when you feel that you are losing your balance. And you immediately realize that he is helping you lose it, his hands on your back, and he is bringing you against him, while he falls backward. You let go of his hat in surprise, and it lands next to the mattress and rolls off, and you collapse on Prince – and you can feel yourself growing cold and mortified, that you might have hurt him, he shows you a smile that one might tell it’s bright, but you know it’s victorious.

He is focusing on your face all the time, and you just can’t stand this scrutiny, so you, somehow shyly, pull the ribbon of his jacket.

You don’t get to untie it completely, as he rolls you over, and settles on top of you, hot and heavy, and you notice that his jaw has set. Once again you can feel your blood cooling, until you realize he is not angry.

He is _aroused_.

He tries to untie your skirt, without crushing you, but the knot is too tight and you need to help him through it. Finally you both focus on throwing aside layers of your clothing, until you are laying on top of his mattress with your chest bare and only underpants on.

He groans, and shyness overwhelms you, and you bring your hands to your face, feeling how hot, and probably red, it is.

Just as you thought, his hands clench on your wrists, and he uncovers your face, and you look up at him, coy, and you see how warm and affectionate his gaze is, and he moves to kiss your forehead.

“Jeonje…” His breath fans over your forehead, and you exhale slowly, trying to calm your madly beating heart. One hand falls to your head to smooth out your surely messed up hair, and you can feel a pinprick of pain behind your eyes.

“Your Highness…” You whisper, heavy on the exhale, and his chest heaves and he starts moving. You don’t dare look down, fearing that it might be too much for you to take, that you’ll lose your resolve. It’s enough to feel him drag your underpants down. Your hands fist into your garments, as you prepare yourself for what is about to come.

There is pain. Oh, _lords_ , there is _pain._ You choke on your breath, when you try to cry out, and it comes out as a quiet whimper. Your eyes are wet, so you immediately close them, not keen on showing your pain. Enough that there is a deep crease in your forehead.

Prince is peppering little kisses all over your face, his hands soothing your naked sides.

He moves, and it _hurts_ , but you bite your lips – nothing will leave your mouth. You can feel him on top of you, inside you, taking and claiming, and there is this pressing, persistent thought in the back of your mind.

It’s done.

For good or for worse, _it’s done._

He took the responsibility for you upon himself. It’s done.

You _are_ His Majesty’s woman.


	3. Chapter 3

The first gong – the one situated in the Water Clock Pavilion - resounds in the crispy morning air. It doesn’t wake you up, because, to say the truth, you didn’t sleep at all. You focus on sounds outside, and then, there it is: another gong more faraway, coming from the palace gate – probably south one, and before you know there is beautiful harmony, gongs from Jongno belfry joining in, as well as Great South Gate and Great East Gate in city walls.

Exactly thirty and three times they ring, once for every one of Buddhist heavens, marking new day, giving City Gates a sign to open. The night curfew is lifted everyday at down during Tiger Hour and that is the sign to rise and go to work.

Everyone knows that by the time last gong rings, King is already standing, being attended by his Palace Ladies, getting ready for the day ahead, shedding lasts of his sleep, transforming from earthly man into Heaven’s Voice on Earth. Which means that everyone should follow his lead, and rise by the last gong, especially Rising Sun, Little Dragon, Heir Apparent, the Crown Prince.

His attendants should already be behind the paper doors, calling for him, and you should be on your way to your morning bath, but nobody dares to disrupt Prince’s peace.

And you’d hate to be the one, but you have already skipped morning call, after not returning to your quarters for night rest and you are painfully sure, that Princess’ spies are already whispering news into her attentive ears.

You stir under the covers, thought of Princess rushing your blood, and the feeling is unfamiliar, soft fabrics sliding against your naked skin. You can feel yourself growing hot, memories of last night still alive in your mind, coming back at you.

“ _Jeonje_ …” Prince’s voice is low and raspy, and sated, and he turns his head to you, his hand under covers resting on your naked stomach. It’s warm and weirdly comforting, so you look at him, laying next to you, looking homely.

There is a pang, minute pang, in your heart, as you realize that’s how should married life look – waking up to a man that adores you – the life that will never be granted to you.

“Your Highness, I have to get to Tailor’s Chamber, and you should begin your day, as well, since His Majesty have already risen.”

He hums, and nods to show his agreement, but he doesn’t try to get up, opting for slightly moving his hand on your stomach, feeling skin.

You exhale shakily, feeling how your abdomen moves, and try again.

“Your Highness, you should get dressed and go greet His Majesty, Her Highness the Queen Dowager, and Her Highness the Queen.” He hums again, sighs, and sits up, bringing the covers down, exposing your torso.

You react immediately, but without a single thought, sitting up as well, bringing covers back to your chest, only realizing that you’ve moved, when cool air hits your back.

Prince coughs and you choose to believe that he was cleaning his throat and not masking laugh. He shifts, and places a sweet kiss on your naked shoulder.

“You are right, Jeonje, we shall return to our daily matters.” That makes your head turn, it sounds so dismissive. But Prince is still next to you, face bare millimeters from your shoulder, and suddenly you are afraid to blink, because he is surging forward, once again claiming your lips.

His eyes are closed, but you stare at him, at his skin, at his eyebrows, at his lashes, even though you are getting cross-eyed. You can see his eyes moving under his eyelids, and his eyebrow ticking. And then he moves back, and smiles at you, warm and indulgent.

“My only wish is to stay like that…” There is a longing tune in his voice, and you smile as well. He stares at you for a moment longer, than he coughs, and abruptly turns away, and scrambles to his feet, dragging his inner shirt off the floor and putting it on. With that and his underpants on, and his headband on he looks proper. He looks like a man after a good night sleep, ready to begin his day, as a future of your nation.

And he stands there, with his back to you, and only when he clears his throat pointedly, you understand that he stands there to give you a chance to get properly dressed. You take your chance, feeling your cheeks burning, and yet feeling of gratefulness filling you up. You snatch your underwear and your skirt, and you dress up as if there was devil breathing down your neck.

As soon as you find your gloves, you stand up and call Prince to inform him that you are as ready as you can be. He turns around, with a smile and a shine in his eyes, but he doesn’t get to speak up.

“Your Highness, it’s time to wake up.” It’s Eunuch Hong. He is not speaking as loudly as he usually does, and it wouldn’t wake Prince up if he wasn’t already awake.

“I have already risen.” Answers Prince, not even glancing at the door. You can stand the scrutiny of his eyes, so you look down, as you put on the gloves, covering the ugly mark.

“Your Highness, is Jeonje ready to leave the quarter? Palace Ladies are waiting outside to help you, and I prepared a way for her to go out unnoticed.” Eunuch’s voice is urgent, but it’s to be expected. You bow to the Prince, to announce your leave. He doesn’t say a word, looking at you, as you walk across the room to the entrance.

“Have a good day, Jeonje.” The phrase would be dismissive if it wasn’t so heartfelt. You glance at Prince over your shoulder and send him an embarrassed smile, as you are unable to do anything more.

After that you open the doors.

*

It’s surprisingly easy to keep your affair in secret. Prince sends for you after curfew, his most loyal subject being the messenger. You’ve learned to wake up before the first gong announces new day, you’ve learned to leave Prince’s quarters before first Ladies start their day.

It took its toll on your body, making you a little more tired than you should be, but it was a small price to pay.

The only problem is that nothing really changes. You are still the servant that has a whore mark on her hand, skilled artisan, but nothing more. You realize why your late night visits in Prince’s quarters should be kept secret, and you appreciate every peaceful day that allows you to gather strength for the moment you’ll be forced to fight for your place next to the Prince.

Princess is keeping silent, which is, at it’s very core, unusual, and even if you suspect that the day she erupts you are going to suffer, but for now you relish casualness of your days.

The first sign of your peace crumbling comes unexpected, as they always do. But unexpectedness comes disguised by the very basic human act.

It’s just after noon, Tailor’s Chamber filled with Ladies working and maids-in-training dying fabrics, when doors open. Jittery maid comes in, and you can easy tell that she is from Maintenance Department, ash gathered under her fingernails. It’s unusual for one of girls from this department to come searching to Tailor’s Chamber. But then again, as you immediately realize she didn’t come searching, she came bearing news.

“Suk Bin went into labor!”

The only thing that can unite different departments, make girls forget about any differences dividing them is gossip.

Excited chatting fills the room, and you see in the corner of your eye two girls jumping to back doors – you know that they will spread the news. Even Jo  Palace Lady seems excited and she doesn’t scold her inferiors to go back to work. In the end not every day new member of the royal family is born.

And today Inner Palace will know whether they can expect small-scale civil war or not. Everything depends on the gender of newborn.

*

As it turns out, the news come in the middle of the night. You are laying in Prince’s bedding, your head on his shoulder, his hand playing with your hair.

Since you came, he has yet to utter a word, and you know that Suk Bin’s offspring is bothering him. Or rather not knowing whether he will be welcoming his sister to the world, or rather sharpening sword for his brother. Of course, he won’t kill the kid, even if indeed it turns to be a boy, but he’ll have to protect himself from Suk Bin’s ambition.

And boy would mean that you as well should be wary of Suk Bin. She is the only Royal Family member might be suspecting that you are warming Prince’s bed at night. And that you are Prince’s weakness.

“Your Highness.” Calls softly Eunuch Hong, and Prince jerks upright, and you fall painfully on your side. Prince doesn’t notice.

“And?” He prompts his servant to speak, one of his hands clenching on the covers. You sit up, looking at Prince’s face in the dark, not daring to touch him right now. He is on the edge, and you felt it when he slept with you.

“It’s prince.” Answering voice is uneven, as if speaker was afraid to speak the truth. Even in the dark you can see his jaw setting, and you can feel the anxiousness settling in your gut.

“I understand.” It takes Prince a moment before he speaks up again. “You may go.”

“Your Highness, Queen might want to call you…”

“You may go.” He says harshly, laying down with audible thump. Eunuch Hong is smart enough not to press the matter.

You sit for the moment longer, not knowing what to do, and finally you slowly lay down.

He doesn’t gather you in his arms.

*

Week later Inner Palace is still buzzing. King seems to be indifferent to the silent struggle that started in the Inner Palace the moment the news reached Royal Family. It was easy to tell that he was simply thrilled with his new son, believing that he will serve to strengthen dynasty.

His Queen, his oldest and his daughter-in-love had different opinion.

No one seen Suk Bin since labor, but everybody was sure that she agrees with King.

Second sign that your peace is crumbling comes exactly 9 days after Suk Bin gave birth to a son. It comes along with Queen’s satisfied stance, with Prince’s determination overshadowing simple pride, and with Princess’ clear, unswerving delight spiced up with plain, old spite.

*

You are in the back yard of Tailor’s Chamber, inspecting drying fabrics. There are few maid-in-training behind you, trying not to tremble, as you evaluate the color of each one of their works. You will chose one to turn it into boy’s ceremonial robes for One Hundred Days Celebration.

That’s why you miss gossip messenger, when she arrives. You realize that another piece of information arrived only when two of the younger Palace Ladies rush past you talking in high excited voices. You look after them, feeling heavy load on your chest, and you turn on your heel, leaving maids on the yard.

You enter the Chamber, feeling how excitement clings to your skin, strangling you.

“Jeonje! Have you heard?” It’s like that, you don’t even have to ask, girl will share the news whether you want it or not. You are a little hazed, when you turn your head to face the girl you used to share chamber with. “Princess is pregnant!”

Crumbling peace is destroyed with 3 words.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a news that shakes the Palace. King is thrilled, and everybody knows that. Not only had his favorite concubine bore him a prince, but he might get a grandprince so soon?

Somehow everybody has conveniently forgotten how Princess was ignored by most of the royal family and how servants used to gossip about her – now she was the heart of the Inner Palace, bright and happy, and fresh, and with her delicate, pale hand always on her abdomen, not letting anyone forget that she is pregnant with Prince’s child.

Your Lord was delighted. It’s been years since you last saw him, at the day of your sister’s wedding. He has sent for you, the moment he entered Inner Palace, head high, blue official hanbok freshly sown for him.

“Father.” You greet him, having left Tailors’ Chamber, thankful for the blind luck that made you wear your new garments today. You were paying more attention to your outfits since Princess got pregnant.

But Prince wasn’t sending for you.

“Oh, Jeonje!” He greets you with quite happy exhale. Even to him you are nothing more than your rank. You are never more than your rank, Jeonje – seventh lower rank in the Tailors’ Chamber. The only moment when you are something different, maybe even _worth a name_ , is when you are in Prince’s arms.

Maybe that’s why you miss him so much.

But you say nothing, nodding politely, as a good child should. He nods approvingly and it irks you that you earn his approval by being nobody. You earn his respect by being quiet and good, and nothing in every aspect.

He leads the way to Princess’ Chambers. You can see people looking at you and your Father with interest – gossip mill haven’t forgotten Prince words from your trial – they still remember that Princess’ father is your Father. And that since Princess become pregnant he was appointed Minister of Treasury.

Your sister doesn’t stand up, when you enter, perfectly playing her pregnant card. She smiles brightly and bows politely, before exclaiming excitedly:

“Father!” Your Lord sits down immediately, until she becomes queen, his status is higher than her, and she should move from her place for him, but you can see that he will let it slide, because his beloved daughter _is pregnant_ and she will bring honor, money and power to Andong’s clan.

You do a full bow, forehead touching your hands on the ground, but you are completely ignored by both of them.

Why are you even here?

“Oh, my daughter! My good and lovely daughter! My Princess!” Your Lord chooses the best moment to underline the fact that he loves her more. Maybe not loves, but she is way more important than you. Thank you ever should be.

You sit down, folding your hands on your laps.

“You did good, Princess! You did good, and I’ve already talked with Main Shaman to make sure you will give birth to a healthy son.” You can’t roll your eyes, so you look down, which is polite version of doing it. It allows you to close your eyes and roll your eyes, when somebody asks for you, before you look up to answer the call. It’s one of the things girls learn as soon as they enter the Palace. And since women of royal family come from the outside they usually don’t know that.

Sitting on your Lord’s left, but two steps behind to show your lower status, you get a good view of his back. He is excited, his body language says that and his voice’s pitch says that. His hanbok is clean and nicely done, but you notice that pattern on his back could be more precise. You would have done a better job.

They talk, an equal to an equal, while you sit in the back ignored. You are quite happy with this situation, since being part of this conversation would be too hard on you.

“Now tell me, is there something that could threaten your position?” Your Lord asks, and it comes through your unfocused mind. You weren’t paying attention to the conversation, and you get angry at yourself, _you should have!_

You look up, and for the first time since you entered the chamber, Princess is looking at you. You immediately break out in cold sweat. You don’t have to see heat in her eyes to know that she is going to grab the opportunity and make sure to end you.

This is what she has been waiting for, this is why she was quiet all those months.

She’s been waiting to sell you out to your father.

Your hands are sweaty in your gloves, and when before you thought they were discreet enough, now those two pieces of fabrics are like torches, wooing eyes of everybody around.

“Jeonje can threaten it, father.” She says slowly, quietly, as if she was embarrassed to say it out loud. _Cunning wench._

You say nothing, schooling yourself for a storm that is about to come. Your Father slowly turns around to you, his eyes showing disappointment, but his posture screaming of his anger. It’s so easy for him to believe her. She doesn’t even have to specify _how_ you threaten her. She pointed you out, so for your Lord you are the threat he has to eliminate.

His eyes fall on your gloves – he is not a stupid man, he is just power-driven. He grabs your hand and yanks you forward, and you fall on your knees as he takes off the right glove. Your right is normal, so he yanks the left one. You don’t fight, knowing there will be less pain if you don’t. You can see your sister smiling behind your Father’s back. You look her straight in the eyes, when your Lord stares at your blemished hand. You stare her coldly in the eyes, when your Lord’s hand connects with your face. You still stare at her, refusing to close your eyes when your head hits the floor.

Your Father is screaming something. Probably about honor and how you tarnished it. You don’t hear it, your ears ringing from the impact. He yanks you up, your body loose, like a ragdoll, allowing him to hit you again in his blind fury.

You don’t look at him, when he screams you right in the face, drops of spit hitting your face. You make sure to look at your sister above his shoulder.

You are not longer approved by your Lord, you are no longer nothing. Now, you are a blemish, a dishonor, a low girl with blood trickling from your mouth.

He stops battering you, because situation forces him to. Or exactly arrival of Eunuch Hong. You don’t see him, but you recognize his voice behind you, as you lay on the floor taking perverse pleasure from the fact that you are staining the paper covering the heated floor. It’s not going to be easy to clean it up.

“Minister of Treasure, Princess. Prince is inviting you both for a tea.” He says, and nothing in his voice tells you that he sees you. You can see that your Lord schools his face, and straightens his hanbok, and motions for eunuch to lead the way, as Palace Ladies hurry to Princess to help her stand up.

As if she needed help.

You lay on the floor, making sure not to move, your body pulsing, the strike you suffered to your abdomen exceptionally painful.

They leave you like that, without a word. And you know it’s not yet the end. Your Lord has enough power to get you thrown out from the palace, but before he does it, he needs to make sure your disgrace won’t affect him or Princess. So you still have time.

You are thankful for being alone, when you sit up. The pain in your stomach in unbearable, but you won’t be crying. Not because of your family. Not anymore.

You try to stand up, but you convulse – you can’t stand up with your insides burning. You don’t know how long you lay on the floor, but rescue comes.

It’s Jo Palace Lady. At your questioning glance she says:

“Eunuch Hong.”

You nod, and she helps you up. The new wave of pain hits you, and you only manage to walk out of the chamber before you throw up. Now you can taste your blood with your bile in your mouth and you are on the verge of losing it.

But Jo Palace Lady is strong, and she doesn’t let you go.

She brings you to the infirmary, but you don’t ask why you are entering it through back doors. Nurses immediately take you from her hands, and you lose your strength along with your consciousness when your back hits the bedding.

*

When you wake up, the pain is dull, and there is a sole candle in the room. You lay, looking up at the ceiling wondering, if it’s the same room you stayed after your sister marked you.

Angry and pained tears threaten to fall down, but you keep them at bay. You won’t be crying because of your family that abandons you. You don’t move for a long time, fearing that you’ll upset your body, bearing with dull pain of your abdomen. It overpowers the pain of the rest of your body. You are thinking about your future. How long do you have before your Father finds the way to make you into a traitor without endangering your family? Would your Mother stop him? Probably not, it’s not like she has any power over him. Will you manage to earn back Prince’s favor before that happens?

Prince.

The barest thought makes you fidget – but as soon as you do all thoughts are out of your mind. You realize that your thighs are wet and sticky and your bedding is soaked. Terror overwhelms you and you sit up, ignoring the sting in your stomach and sudden rustling behind you, and you throw the covers away. In the flickering light of the sole candle you see blood. Your gown is sticking to your legs, no longer pristine white. You drag it up, to see your naked legs and in the crimson pool between your legs you see something, no bigger than a tangerine.

You scream. In terror, in shock, in pain, in full scale hysterics, loudly, your shriek piercing the night. There are hands on your shoulders, there are hands on your arms, there are hands on your bloody hands, and somebody is hugging you, as you scream your hatred at the world. The tears are finally falling, Prince is rocking you, holding you, trying to calm you down – but even if your animal-like state you catch the moment when he sees bloody mess between your legs and _that._

Nurses come running, but they stop in the doors, realizing what just happen.

Because of the beating you got from your Father, you lost Prince’s baby – having no idea you were pregnant.

And now you no longer are.


	5. Chapter 5

The pain is dull.

Unyielding.

You don’t remember being cleaned. You don’t remember nurses helping you into new gown. You don’t remember being moved onto fresh bedding. You don’t remember it at all.

You remember Eunuch Hong coming to tell Prince that it was burned and buried.

_It._

It shouldn’t be _it._ Had that child been born alive it would have became Prince or Princess. Had that child been boy he might have one day live to sit on the throne.

But this child would never be named, this child would never get honors that it’s blood entitles it to. This child would forever be _it._

Burned and buried, and you would probably never get to know _where_.

You wanted to fight with eunuch. Ha! You wanted to fight with Prince. You wanted to demand honors for your child, you wanted to avenge it, you wanted to proclaim war against Heavens.

But you didn’t.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to plead.

But you didn’t.

You wanted to ask whether you could be moved to another room, smell of blood suffocating you, bloody little figurine haunting your thoughts.

But you didn’t.

You are sitting on the bedding, motionless, looking at your knees, pain and grief and anger dulling your senses. But the sense of duty is stronger than even that. You aren’t the center of this tragedy, you don’t have the right to make it about you. So you keep quiet, just as the men beside you.

It is his tragedy. It is his right to throw a fit, it is his right to be angry, furious, grieving – he lost his child. it isn’t your miscarriage, it is nation’s.

And nation is not going to learn about it, leaving you to mourn silently.

“I can’t punish him.”

 _Him._ Your Lord. You don’t react, not finding solace in Prince’s words. That is first sentence in weeks he directed at you. You can’t even bring yourself to get angry at him. Of course, he can’t punish your Father. For what? For a causing a miscarriage that didn’t happen? For attacking woman caring Prince’s child – a child that was never conceived? For beating’s Prince’s concubine, who wasn’t a concubine?

Everything that happened has to be erased as if it never happened. You know that, you understand that, but it doesn’t make it easier.

“You may never speak about it to anyone, woman.” There is exasperation in Prince’s voice. You don’t know if it’s because of you. You allow yourself a breach in decorum, and you nod instead of voicing proper answer.

There is a hand on your arm, fingers clenching painfully, but he immediately slackens his hold, thumb caressing fabrics. You can hear him swallowing.

Is it that sound that made you finally look at him? Maybe. Or maybe it’s the silence that followed. His hand is unnaturally pale in candle’s light. His black robes are shining in the same light, but his hat is not in place, and his head is turned away from you. His shoulder are shaking, but when he turns to you his eyes are dry. Red and tired, but dry.

“I can’t punish him.” He repeats, as if trying to impose this order upon himself, as if he wasn’t sure he can do it. “Not now. But I won’t forget. And I swear, that I will avenge our child.”

His voice is quiet, but stare is heated. You asses him, reading into fury under his skin – the one that fuels your own. You are hiding in the infirmary, low servant, powerless, but in this moment, for the first time, you get a taste of power.

You straighten, looking him in the eyes, for once not having to fight with your habits, forbidding you to look him in the face, image of bloody figurine the source of your resolve. The thumb of your left hand traces the mark burned into your skin.

“Do it.” It’s an order, and you should be coveting in fear for having said it to heir apparent, but you are not. Prince doesn’t seem bothered, his hand sliding from your arm to your hand, and he is solemn, when he answers.

“I will.”

*

You will never forget about your unborn child, but you know that you are not in a position to dwell in your sufferings. You mourn during your stay at infirmary, but as soon as you walk out of the room you were recovering in, you are go back to work.

Bruises on your face have yet to fade, but no one comments on that. They already know what happened, and that your time in Inner Palace is limited – it has to be if you are an enemy to Minister of Treasury. Of course no one would say anything to your face, but you can tell that they treat you like a wounded, dying animal.

Little do they know.

For a fortnight after you start working again you don’t see Prince. And when you finally do, it isn’t his doing that allows you to meet him.

It’s your own.

You can’t be leaving in fear, you can’t just wait for him to decide it’s time to punish your Lord.

So you finish his new hanbok, you fold it nicely and you go to pay him a visit. It’s late afternoon, but the sun is still high in the sky, not surprising at all in summer. The air is heavy and dirt sticks to your neck and creeps under the clothes, as you walk to Little Palace. As you pass by the pond you can see Princess with her entourage, and the spike of anger in your blood doesn’t surprise you. Even from the distance you can see her hand on her abdomen.

Eunuch Hong says nothing and asks nothing when he sees you. He doesn’t even announce you, as he leads you to Prince’s chamber. Prince is surrounded by books, clearly deep in the studies, but he looks up, surprised, when you cross the threshold.

You wait for the door to be closed, before you greet him formally – deep bow, with your forehead touching your hands folded on the ground. After that you sit down, not caring that you left his new robe behind you. He says nothing, but it’s not important. You will do the talking.

“For me to be appointed as your concubine, I need to carry your child.”

It’s been thirty days since you lost the first life that you carried under your heart, but you can’t dwell on that. In your talk with Prince, neither of you ever mentioned you becoming concubine, but it’s inevitable. And Suk Bin’s words are pushing you to be bold. You need a shield. Against your sister, against your Father, against everybody. And Prince himself is not enough. You need his son to be born from you.

Prince just nods, but there is familiar playfulness behind his next words.

“Then come.”

*

First snow brings delight and rush to the Inner Palace. First snow is always a reason to celebrate, but when first snow coincides with future queen going into labor, about to bring first royal grandchild to the world, the excitement is extraordinary.

You still remember the buzz that accompanied Suk Bin’s labor, but it seemed insignificant now, with Princess’ labor.

Once again you are at Prince’s side, when news broke. During those months there were not many nights you spent alone. Prince was very vigorous with his commitment to make you pregnant, and you weren’t complaining. Both your sister and your Father were laying low, clearly waiting for her to give birth to a son, before they try to undermine you.

It is still dark outside, moments before first gong, when you wake up. You don’t know what has woken you up, but as soon as you open your eyes you know that something is not right. Prince is sitting, clothes already fastened, looking at his folding screen.

“My Lord…” You call him to him quietly.

He doesn’t turn to you.

“I had a dream.” He says instead. You could ask what kind of dream, but you know that he will tell you as soon as he gathers his thoughts. And he does, with a weary sigh. “In my dream I saw a dragon. Roaring through open skies, with a pearl in his claws. It was golden and bright. And dragon left it, high in the sky, shining.” He turns around, his face not visible in the dark. “It was a sun. The pearl.”

You say nothing, not allowing yourself to swallow. You both know what this dream means. Dragon and sun in on dream? In a dream of expecting father? Both dragon and sun are symbols on the throne.

It is a boy. Princess is having a boy.

“Your Highness, I was just notified by Princess’ attendant lady that she just went into labor.” Calls Eunuch Hong, and you can feel your blood freezing.

You’ve run out of time.

 


	6. Chapter 6

He is fidgeting. Prince is fidgeting, and as much as I hurts you, you have to understand it. And you do. You know that he doesn’t want to leave you alone, he doesn’t want to show his disloyalty, but it’s his kid being born, and he really needs a son.

“Go.” You say finally, trying not to think about his dream. You correct yourself immediately, horrified at your lack of manners. “Your Highness, please, go to Princess’ quarters.”

He looks at you, eyes frantic.

“Should I?” He asks, and you can say that he doesn’t even know what is happening around him. You’d smile if your situation wasn’t so grave. He mitigates himself. “No, I am staying. With you, Jeonje, only with you.”

He kisses your hand as a proof to his words.

“Your grace is tremendous.” You murmur without clear thought on your side. Both of you are losing your minds. “Your Highness, it’s your son being born.”

The word _son_ nearly chokes you, but Prince doesn’t seem to see your despair. He nods vigriously.

“You are right. I have to go. It’s my son! My firstborn!” Those words feel like daggers, but you nod. He doesn’t see that already calling for Eunuch to help him dress up.

You stand up as well, and quickly put on your own clothes. Eunuch Hong helps you leave Prince’s chambers unnoticed. There is sympathy in his eyes when he bows to you.

You don’t want his sympathy. You want no one’s sympathy. It’s same with pity.

You go to your chamber, and you try to fall asleep, but you don’t get to rest during the night. You turn from side to side, once again thinking about your future, your sister, your father, your _child_ , your revenge.

How much it hurts you that your sister will greet her child, she will get to hold it and see it grow up, the chance you’ve been denied.  

When the first gong rings, you are already dressed, ready to face the news – whatever it might be.

*

She had a boy. Of course she had a boy. Healthy, plump boy. Inner Palace got thrown into constant state of euphoria. It went for weeks. Weeks of elation, weeks of celebration, weeks of constant stream of news coming from Princess’ chambers.

You wasn’t surprised, dynasty was secured, King had two generation’s of heirs. King was more than pleased, Queen was euphoric, Princess was overjoyed, and Prince was both proud and delighted. He was still sending for you, but before he did anything he spend long hours talking to you about his son.

You smiled, you nodded, fearing for your future.

Then you slept with him, thinking whether it will be of any help in the future. Newborn takes precedence, he is the firstborn. What use it would be to give birth to a son now? Queen and Princess would make sure to just throw you and your son out of palace.

And daughter would be even worse.

After coitus you’d lay awake, praying for your future, your thumb digging into scar on your hand.

Prince stirs, and you turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are accustomed to darkness and you see that he is awake. And he looks troubled.

“Your Highness?” You prompt quietly. He sighs, and shifts to land on his back. You shift to lay your head on his shoulder and he gather you close.

You lay like this in silence for a longer while, Prince gathering his thoughts.

“I dreamt about it again.” He says finally.

“It, Your Highness?”

“The dragon.” This grabs your attention. His conceiving dream was right, so maybe this is another oracle. Maybe this time for you. But again he looks troubled. “I think it’s the same dream. At least I think so… There are some differences, or maybe things I just didn’t noticed he first time?”

He falls silent again.

“Tell me.” You whisper, dropping the honorifics, but he doesn’t notice. You’ve realized long ago that he likes when you aren’t as proper as you should be.

“I saw a dragon, and I am pretty sure it was the same one. It was red and majestic, holding a pearl in his claws. Bright and golden pearl. He flew through the skies, but there was already different sun. High in the sky there was different sun, and different dragon. Older dragon. As the younger dragon got closer, the older one snatched the sun, the other pearl, and escaped. He just flew straight up and disappeared. And then the younger dragon left his pearl in the sky. The new sun.”

You hold your breath, recognizing the root of Prince’s disturbance.

Old dragon could be no other than King.

*

Prince’s dream wasn’t leaving your mind. Was it really conceiving dream? Was it vision of future?

Why Heavens decided to gift Prince with this dream was beyond you – but you were sure there was a reason for that. Heavens rarely did something without a reason. You were taught to believe that and you did with all your might.

Three weeks before royal grandson’s 100 Days celebration you’ve been tasked with making celebration robes for the boy. It hurt more than you were willing to admit, but it was your work, and you vowed to make them more beautiful than Suk Bin’s son robes were.

Suk Bin was unusually silent during this time, and it frightened you. She was already tasting the bitter taste of having second born prince, and you knew that it was your destiny as well. You considered going to her and forming some kind of alliance, but Prince was her enemy, so she was your enemy as well.

King spared no expenses for his grandson. He bought the best product, he invited Chinese delegation to join in the celebration, he granted his people with rice and wine, so commoners could celebrate as well. Two weeks before the grand day, palace ladies started to decorate the palace, cooking ladies started preparing food – King even gave permission to use ten years old vinegar for this occasion.

Everybody was expecting the celebration that would go down in history, so lavish and luxurious it was supposed to be. Musicians and dancers could be seen everyday practicing their performance, painters were busy painting new folding screens, tailors were busy sewing new robes, table clothes, pillows. Cleaning maids along with maintenance eunuchs were cleaning and painting anew every building in the palace

Ten days before the feast King started coughing.

Nine days before the celebration King got fever.

Eight days before the celebration one cleaning maid spots Royal Doctor speaking urgently to Queen, who with every spoken word goes paler. On the same day it starts going around that King has inflamed, mad-like eyes. They say he is being punished.

Seven days before the celebration everybody but Royal Doctor is banned from entering King’s quarters, but somehow it gets out that King has red spots all over his face.

Six days before the celebration King stops eating.

Five days before the celebration Royal Doctor is overheard while assuring Queen that the worst is behind.

Four days before the celebration King starts eating again. Queen is seen sobbing in pavilion containing last King’s memorial.

Three days before the celebration Queen announces that celebration will go as planned. Every palace worker throws themselves into work, working beyond their strength to prepare the feast, since everybody neglected it when King got ill, focusing on getting gossip. Queen’s announcement gives hem strength, and reassures them that King will recover. Palace wouldn’t be getting ready for celebration if its owner was dying. But even as you skillfully thread the needle through the fabrics, you can’t forget Prince’s dream. No one spotted him since news about King’s illness broke out, and you worried about him, but you couldn’t leave your post and go check up on him. Three more days, and you’d be free to go.

Two days before the celebration spots from King’s face spread to the rest of his body. Late in the afternoon he lost his consciousness.

One day before the celebration, in the wee hours of the morning, Royal Grandson, named Lee Seon, died from measles. King was soon to follow.

Lee Seon’s celebration never got its _today._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God dammit, I can't believe I forgot to post this chapter, and I already posted the next one. Am I out of my mind?

You weren’t supposed to be there. No one really was, out of palace servants crowding around you, but again no one would be there to tell you to go back to work, because every single of your superiors were out there in the field.

You could see young eunuchs laying on the roofs of the buildings around the hall – you envied them their place in the “gallery”. You were hidden with the rest of the girls behind the corner of the east side of pavilions, from there you could see a small procession: Chief Secretary-Transmitter, Minister of Rites, Chief State Councilor ad Left State Councilor, with group of six eunuchs and six royal guards were walking to thatched mourning hut. Chief Secretary lead them, with his best red robes, followed with Minister of Rites also wearing red, and State Councilors wearing red. Behind them, six eunuchs wearing green were holding beautifully ornamented chest.

All knew what that chest hold. The royal order from late king and royal seal.

“Your Highness!” Called Chief Secretary upon arriving at thatched hut. Crown Prince slowly emerged, still wearing mourning white linen clothes, secured with straw ropes and white linen hat.

“Please, your Highness, change your robes,” said Minister of Rites.

Crown Prince disappeared.

It’s been weeks since the measles outbreak. It took around 40 people with itself, with Palace being home for around two thousand people it wasn’t much – but then again, it took both King and his Royal Grandson. It was the hardest blow of them all, everyone could feel the graveness of the situation – especially Crown Prince. To lose father and son on the same day? The heaves were merciless.

Crown Prince spent this whole time in this thatched mourning hut, visiting his late father like he would visit him when he was alive. He engaged in ritual wailing, showing his filial piety and showing his grief, as a loyal son should.

He came out only to attend his son’s funeral. You didn’t go to see it. It wasn’t big, since Lee Seon didn’t live long enough to be appointed a successor. But he lived long enough to get a funeral – a ritual your own child was denied. Crown Princess was deep in mourning as well, but you resented her for wearing white – because you were not allowed to.

But the thing that you knew was most pressing to Crown Prince, the thing that you were sure kept him up during those long mournful hours was his dream. The one with dragons and suns. His dream warned him about what was about to come. His dream prophesied death of late King and his son. Because his young son must have been the pearl that old dragon snatched and disappeared with. Which meant that young dragon was Crown Prince himself, which would only left the other pearl a mystery.

A mystery you hoped you knew an answer to. Because Prince’s dream clearly showed that along with new rule, _his_ rule, he would bring a new heir to the throne. And you were sure it would be your son.

He reappeared again wearing red, luxuriously looking hanbok. It was done by your hand, with a greater care than ever. You oversaw process of dyeing the fabrics, you took measurements yourself, you cut it, you saw it, you embroidered it yourself. And now, looking at him, wearing clothes made by your hand, clothes made for today’s ceremony, you couldn’t have been more proud.

You caught only a glimpse of him, before he disappeared into royal coffin hall. Everybody knew what was happening inside, even though no one had ever seen it. State Councilors knelt in front of the coffin, offering written will and royal seal to Crown Prince.

Next time you saw red royal robes you weren’t looking at the Crown Prince. He has become your King.  He entered mourning hut once more, and you and other girls watched like royal guards prepared sedan chair for him. Only King could ride in a sedan chair in the Palace.

And he emerged once more, standing straight and powerful, the most important person in your country, Father of the Nation, good and wise leader, the King. He sat down on the chair, and eight slaves raised immediately to put him in the air. It was a short procession, King in his sedan chair, sitting straight, was traveling via the middle road, the one that only he was allowed to step on, civil governors walking behind the chair on the right road, and military governors following on the left road.

They soon disappeared into royal audience hall, where all the governors and officials were waiting for them, each rank standing at its respective position. You knew that the wooden throne was placed in the pavilion, right under double golden dragon with four claws – so everybody could see him. You knew that behind the throne there was a folding screen adorned with sun (King), moon (Queen) and five mountains meaning five regions of the country: North, South, East, West and Center.

You knew that King sat down on his throne, assuming his position and responsibilities that come with it, because in the silence you could hear a command:

“Mountain Outcries!”

The outcry echoes within walls of the Palace, announcing to the world that new King has arrived, and wishing for his longevity.

“Thousand years!’ You joined the hymn with your whisper, your stomach churning. “Thousand years! Thousand years!”

“Mountain Outcries!”

“Thousand years! Thousand years! Thousand years!”

You pushed through the crowd of girls, away from the royal audience hall, your body weak and fighting you.

“One more time Mountain Outcries!”

You leaned against the wall not knowing what was happening to you, feeling how your body shakes violently.

“Thousand times a thousand years!”

You threw up on the ground.

*

There is a rough hand on your wrist, but it’s hold is surprisingly soft.

“Tell her no!” You don’t look up, and the man in front of you does the same,  but you can see him flinching.

“Your Highness, Suk Bin does have a point.” Says Eunuch Hong in small voice. He is a good subject. He knows what hurts King and he knows what King doesn’t want to hear, but he also knows what is good for the country. And it annoys you just as much it annoys King, but you know that Suk Bin _is_ right.

Even if that’s not what mourn driven monarch wants to hear.

Custom says that after the death of previous King, his concubines should move out of the Palace, to one of the spare palaces, along with Great Queen Dowager and other siblings of new King. Which would include Suk Bin and her son.

But since King does not have heirs, Suk Bin son, Lee Yeonggeon _is_ King’s heir. And he should be treated as such – which means Suk Bin and Yeonggeon Prince should be allowed to stay in the Palace.

You could understand why King didn’t want that. To be faced with a young boy that was not his son, but was the same age as his late son – it could be painful. And of course it would mean that Suk Bin was still in the Palace, giving her a chance to plot against the King.

“I am young, and vital, and I proved already that I am capable of having a son, it’s just a matter of time before I get him. I will not raise Prince Yeonggeon as my heir. Mark my words!” Man in front of you flinches again, and you think that King shouldn’t show his emotions where others might see it. Just like now.

But you do feel a pressure of his statement. You believe it should be you – person that will give him a much-awaited heir.

“How she can be so shameless to plot against me and plot against the rules that founded our Joseon and made it great since our great founder and my ancestor Taejo established it, when her _husband_ , my father and our nation’s great King has yet to embarked on his final journey?!” King erupts suddenly, and you jump, shooting a quick glance to him. You immediately look down, noticing that man in front of you is shaking slightly. He looks like he could pee himself anytime.

You take pity on poor man, gathering your own courage.

“Your Highness…” You say shyly and humbly, and his attention immediately jumps to you, features relaxing when your eyes meet.

_To be so loved._

He notices the physician bending over your hand, trying to be as small as possible, and he coughs. You know it’s to cover his embarrassment.

“Right, Physician Jeong. The verdict is?” He asks, and poor man jumps again, snapping his hand back. Your hand falls to your lap, and physician blushes vividly, shooting a scared look to the monarch. Put your glove-clad hands together, nervous.

“Your Highness! I have felt two pulses. Jeonje is having your child!”


	8. Chapter 8

Three palace ladies wearing green hanboks are standing in front of you. Their robes are more ceremonial, more striking than usual ones, white and yellow silk adorning broad sleeves. They are wearing splendid wigs with wooden frames, and on another occasion you might have been jealous.

The one in the center is reading off the red parchement.

“I appoint Jeonje to rank 4, Sukwon.”It’s lady speaking, but it’s not her words. It’s lady speaking, but it’s not her order.” Perform traditional token of appreciation.”

You don’t smile. You don’t let your emotions show, as you calmly wait for attendants to join you on the straw mat you are standing on. For the first time in years you are not wearing robes you made yourself. You are not wearing cyan skirt, not there is a red ribbon in your hair. You are wearing even more splendid wig, with wooden frame and delicate golden hairpins in it.

Two palace ladies grab your elbows, and it’s amazingly gratifying to have somebody serve you. You are holding small plaque in your hands, and frame is as heavy as it looks, so heaving someone help you bow is indispensable.

The bow is slow, because you need to make it perfect. It needs to be perfect.

You straighten, feeling light. Light even with heavy hair accessories, light even with growing belly.

“We congratulate you, Lady Sukwon!” Calls lady leading the ceremony, and all the ladies taking part in that follow. Your new title being revoked by so many throats makes you blush. It’s not embarrassment, it’s satisfaction. Simple and pure.

They are bowing to you. They are calling your name, the name of an official concubine, one that is pregnant with King’s son. You are superior to them, even though there is a _whore_ marking on your skin.

You are not yet done, but your vengeance is closer than it ever was.

*

It wasn’t easy. Getting that order. You know that because King confided in you. You kept sleeping in his quarters, now peacefully, in his arms, because he didn’t want you to go back to rooms you shared with other workers.

He couldn’t stand you working. He couldn’t stand you eating nothing that wasn’t tested, he couldn’t stand you being away from him, and he couldn’t stand the most you not getting respect you deserved.

He planned meticulously. He gathered Eastern fraction, a natural opponent to Western fraction, which your Father belonged to. He made them believe that appointing you a concubine would weaken Western fraction. He convinced every single one of them to be in the favor of this decree.

Western fraction rebelled. They were appalled. How could King take a concubine from palace ladies. How could King choose a girl related to Queen? Why could he even consider taking another woman, when Queen was perfectly capable of bearing children, and so she proved.

South fraction, which was a part of Eastern fraction, rebelled as well, as they were Suk Bin’s allays. Suk Bin didn’t need another woman able to bear a child, which could take her son’s status away.

They spent hours in the audience hall. Pleading, shouting, arguing.

And when all the fractions were on the verge of war, King silenced them.

With one information.

_Jeonje is pregnant with King’s child._

*

King’s child can’t come from a woman unworthy. They had no choice, but to make you worthy.

So you got you appointment. It came from Ministers and King, and not as it should from Queen. It made the taste of victory less sweet, but you know that you will get another chance in the future.

You got your appointment. The lowest rank, but you are officially King’s woman, and only his. You got your own attendants, you got your own pavilion and garden, and you got your shield, growing under your heart.

You got double jadeite rings and golden hair pin.

You got power.

*

 You long to see him. Your King, your Lord, your Man, but now as a Lady in this palace you have duties to fulfill. And the first and foremost duty is to greet your elders. You have to greet them in the morning and in the evening, fulfilling your filial piety, and it should be first place you go after being appointed.

So you call Woo Palace Lady, your new personal attendant, your eyes and ears in the palace, and with her a step behind you go to visit Great Queen Dowager.

She asks you to drink a tea with her, which is quite surprising. You don’t expect members of the royal family to treat you nice, by all means they shouldn’t.

But you sit down on the pillow, carefully placing hand on your stomach. It’s not yet big enough to justify your gesture, it’s not yet big enough not to be concealed by your robes – unless you place a hand over it. Then it’s visible.

Great Queen Dowager only laughs at you.

“I am not your enemy, Sukwon.” She says, as her attendants bring table with tea and snacks. “But don’t be mistaken, I am not your friend either.”

You bow, recognizing truth behind her words. She won’t act unless you threaten integrity of the royal family. At least until you give birth.

“You brought torment to this place.” Says matron conversationally. “But it’s not unexpected is it?”

“Your Highness.” You say, keeping your face straight and she laughs.

“You are good. Trained. Better than Suk Bin will ever be.” She says and takes a sip of the tea that was poured for her.” But Suk Bin is driven. So it Queen and Queen Dowager. Are you driven, Sukwon?”

You realized that she doesn’t even want you to answer. She is offering a warning, or an advice. Or maybe she just wants to shake you up. You caress your stomach.

“Yes… You are driven, aren’t you? Driven enough to make an enemy as powerful as Queen, back when you were only a servant. The mark on your hand. Was that Queen?”

You stare at Great Queen Dowager, savoring the fact that you _can_. You keep your face blank, but it doesn’t surprise you that she knows. It’s the same as during your trial ages ago – it’s her job to know.

“I see. Take a cake and go. You have to greet Queen Dowager and Queen, and they are not going to be welcoming.” You bow, and your attendant takes offered cake. You stand up, and take a step back, and then turn around to go out. “Be careful, for your sake, this child needs to be born alive.”

She managed to do it. She managed to shake you up, and she did it beautifully, throwing the hardest stone, when you already relaxed, because you saw the escape.

Not only she once again proved to know everything in the palace, she played on your worst fears.

Shoulders squared, and stomach revolting you left Great Queen Dowager’s pavilions, wondering why she wasn’t moved to the spare palace, as she should have been.

You make Woo Palace Lady throw the cake away.

Queen Dowager doesn’t let you in. You expected it, and it wouldn’t sting if it wasn’t for the fact that all palace ladies are going to gossip how you are not accepted into family.

Which is true. But you’d prefer not to be the topic of the latest gossip – you gave them too much entertainment as of lately.

Unsurprisingly Queen refuses to meet you as well.

It’s no wonder – in the end she was doing her best to make sure you’d never be around King, and now she was forced to live as a neighbor to her own lowly-born sister, who was pregnant to her rightful husband.

The fact that you don’t have to face either of them is calming. Your steps back to _your_ pavilion are energetic and you are elated, and you know that Woo Palace Lady is smiling behind your back. Maids, wearing hanboks that just yesterday you were wearing, seeing you move out of the way and bow to show you respect. You know that they are probably rolling their eyes, or swearing at you in their minds, just like you used to do, and it amuses you.

But your good mood is blown away as soon as you reach your pavilion.

Head of the Andong Clan, Minister of Treasury, Father-In-Law to King, your Lord and your Father is waiting for you in front of you chambers.

Instantly you want to vomit. You remember the last time you saw him, and how it ended, and you want to call guards, and throw him out, or maybe accuse him of what he did to you.

But you invite him inside.

In your freshly decorated room, your self-confidence comes back to you, and you sternly go straight to your desk and your pillows, and you sit down facing the doors – in the seat that highest person in the hierarchy should sit. Your Father is second rank, you are only forth, but you are not going to let him feel like a superior.

You can see that it irritated him, but he bows to you.

 _He bows to you._ His lowly-born daughter.

It’s shallow, but it’s still there.

He sits down angrily.

“Have you gone mad?” It’s a first thing that spills out of his mouth. You were considering calling for refreshments, but this once sentence puts you into defensive. “Do you want to destroy your family? And everything we have worked for?!”

He destroyed your family killing your child. Rage takes over you, but it’s not wet one. It’s not anger where you want to cry, and your voice breaks. No, it’s a silent, boiling fury, cold as a stream in the mountains.

“Lady.” You say coolly.

“What?” He spits angrily.

“Have you gone mad, _Lady_? Do you want to destroy your family, _Lady_? And everything we have worked for, _Lady Sukwon_?” You correct him, calmly, seeing the spark of ire in his eyes.

Finally sweet taste in your mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

He is staring at you blankly, but you can see his anger, his disbelief in how daring you are. It seems like only now he starts to understand the scope of your change, the strong spirit backing you and your resolve.

Once again you place hand over your stomach – it’s both to shield this child from wrath of your father and his hurtful words (you are carrying under your heart an offspring to King, you are obliged by law to practice _fetal education_ – you should never let your mind wander to angry nor sinister thoughts, nor should you let yourself see something immoral, impure), but also it’s to protect yourself, and to establish your status.

Yes, you may only be a vessel for a continuation of the royal family, but you are going to be the most thoughtful and proper vessel this place saw.

You exhale slowly, looking at eyes so similar to yours.

“Father.” You didn’t say ”Lord”. It’s true that in your society there is no difference between father and lord, father is always lord to his children, but “father” emphasizes the bloodline – the one thing that can never be broken. “I am _Sukwon_.”

It’s exhilarating to say it out loud. You are entitled to say that, but one should never boast their position. There is a pause, but your Father doesn’t speak up. You let the silence emphasize your statement, before delivering even braver one.

“I am Sukwon _for now_.” You stress last part, and your Father’s eyes flicker to your belly and up to your face. You know him. You know his ways, you know that in the end women mean nothing to him – but power and social strata? That means a world to him. And he is not stupid. He is just greedy. So you look him straight in the eyes. “I may be Sowon, Sukyong, Soyong or Soeui on my way – but I will become Bin. If it doesn’t happen with this child, then it’ll happen with the next one.”

It’s borderline treason, but not quite. It’s not considered proper to say something like that out loud, but it doesn’t attack royal family in any way, so even if he decided to try to use your words against you – he can’t.

But something in his face tells you that he understands, that he is already weighting his options. Like a greedy leech he is.

“My son will be recognized as King’s legitimate son. He will be appointed Crown Prince, and I will become Bin, I will receive new pavilion with my name on its gate.”

It’s so easy to see what is happening behind your Father’s eyes. You know that he can see your hometown being elevated from prefecture to county. He can see being bestowed new rights and titles, as a maternal grandfather to next-in-line.

But your Father is a cunning politician first.

“My _legitimate_ daughter is Queen. Queen who had a son already, Queen who has politician backing and earned her right to be next to the King.” He doesn’t have to ask _what do you have?_ – you hear it anyway.

“Make me legitimate.” You say boldly. Your Father pauses for a moment, and laughs incredulously.

“You ask me to do something against our customs, enraging my fraction, which would possibly hurt Queen?”

“I don’t ask, Father. I order.” You are pushing your luck. His reaction is immediate – his face contorting from rage, and he jumps to his legs, surging forward to grab the front of your robes. You don’t even flinch, hearing doors to your chamber being open – maids probably alarmed by sudden ruckus in your room.

“Minister–!”

You stare him in the face, in those furious eyes daring him to hit you.

“If you raise your hand against me, I _will_ make sure they’ll cut it.” You are cold, not looking at his hand already threateningly raised. He shakes with his ire, but doesn’t move.

“Sit. Down.” It takes him a while. You are not hurried, you are calm, which you know will shake him. You are surprised how easy it is to govern, too plot, while being as stoic as one can be. There is a certain pleasure to being able to stay temperate and knowing that it simply enrages the other person.

He sits down with a huff, as if that disgruntled sound could cover the fact that he _listened_ to your _order_. And you are not going to stop now. You are going to push it, until he understands what kind of monster he brought to this world.

“Get out.” You say, directing it to your maids, but you see your father flinch. Woo Palace Lady opens her mouth, probably object, but you just stare at her coldly until she understands that it won’t be wise to defy you. She walks backward, head bowed, a step longer than she should. The step that should set Queen apart from you.

When paper door slides closed, you focus on your father.

“Father, it seems like you have misunderstood me.” You say placidly. Even though you are not placid at all. You may be calm, but your blood is flowing lively. You should know measure, but it’s the very first moment you get to use your power, and nothing can stop you from using it to its fullest. “You will do it, not because I ask, nor because I order. Nor because you want to.”

You can see your father’s eyebrows drawing together.

“You’ll do it to protect yourself. And I know that your life is your most treasured possession.”

He doesn’t understand. Of course he doesn’t understand. How could he? But you are only happy to explain.

“Remember when you hit me? In Queen’s quarters? When you hit me over and over again, until I couldn’t move anymore?”

“And you want to threaten me with that?” He laughs, not knowing how much it irks you. The pain is back. Not physical, emotional. You calmly caress your belly, refusing to let your mind wander. Your child has to be genius, your child has to be perfect subject, and perfect scholar – you cannot think about anything improper.

Such as that night at the infirmary.

“You have much to learn, my child.” He ridicules you. You let him, knowing that you’ll be able to test his terror, when you prove him wrong. “No one would blame me for disciplining my own bastard daughter, for being a whore no-less!”

“Right.” You say, opening a mirror you have on your table, and looking at yourself. But you don’t miss the slightest sign of disappointment on your father’s face. He truly believed that he is going to hurt you with his words. He is far beyond the point where he can hurt you. His one crime will never be topped. “I was a whore. I was a whore to His Majesty. When you hit me I was already warming up King’s bed. When you hit me, I was pregnant with his first child.”

You can see it. How his face turns white, when he realizes the implications. No-one should ever raise a hand on King’s woman. No-one should ever raise a hand on a pregnant woman. But raising hand on King’s pregnant woman is a treason worthy crime.

“So you’ll do it. You’ll make me legitimate in the country that doesn’t do it for woman. And you’ll do it, because of grandchild you _killed_ , before it was born to claim privileges that were his by law. You’ll do it, so your grandson born by me can take his rightful place, as a heir to the throne.”

*

 “Lady.” Prompts Woo Palace Lady, when she helps you change into your sleeping robes. You know that she is going to politely sold you, while choosing words that you could never label as scolding. But King told you to listen. Ha! You were palace lady long enough to know that maids are to be listened. They understand more than outsiders think. And you know that they speak up only when it’s really needed.

“Speak.”

“You shouldn’t turn your Lord into your enemy like that.” A snippet of wisdom. True, but she doesn’t know your father. And she doesn’t know that he is not the only one you have leverage against.

You had to sort his priorities early on. You put him in the place where he has to choose which one of his daughters to support, and you won’t let him ponder on this problem forever.

If he chooses you, it will send a clear message to all ministers, that you are a force to reckon with, since your own father’s chosen his illegitimate daughter to support. That will make them wonder how did that happen, and what kind of knowledge you possess, what kind of power is at your disposal. Which will make gathering allies easier.

If he chooses Queen… Securing your child’s position will be harder, but you’ll be able to make sure that every person that have wronged you will be punished. And truth be told destroying your sister and father will be immensely satisfying.

You only need this child to be born a boy.


	10. Chapter 10

“My Lady, please, drink this.”

The talisman was burned. All those weeks you’ve became used to it, hanging on the wall, and it was surreal to see it removed and carefully burned in the candle light.

Nurse brings you a cup of water, and you try not to think about the grayish liquid, choosing to believe that it will bring you a quick and easy birth. Nurse reminds you that horse reigns above your head are there for you to grab on, each finished with a small figurine – one resembling a sea horse, and the other one a bird. There are also believed to be birth accelerators.

Once again you are instructed that when your child is born, you have to let go of the figurines.

You know that, you’ve heard it so many times before.

You are laying on your birthing bed, looking idly into the ceiling, where the horse reigns are, waiting for it to happen.

*

It comes with pain. The first cramp is swift and sudden, sending you into a shock. Immediately delicate hands guide yours to horse reigns, and you grab them, already breathing heavily. It’s more because of the fear, than because of pain.

*

It comes with lots of pain. That you’ve heard, and that you were prepared for, but the way your body reacts, is not a thing you expected. Your hand are white on the reigns, and you don’t see nurses, quiet shadows circling around you, nor you hear the encouragements repeated over and over again, like a mantra.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, as the wave of pain comes. Cramps come like that: in waves. The intensity varies, the pain varies as well, but the pulling and squeezing of your insides doesn’t. It’s a really weird and extremely painful experience, as with cramp after cramp your body seems to be trying to force out not only your child, but the rest of your insides as well.

You can feel piercing pain in your lower back, and it discourages you, but it also makes you want to get over with it, to just make it stop.

Except for the nurses you are alone. Men are outside, your maids are outside, you don’t even know if King is there, waiting for his child.

You are sweating a lot, your perspiration sinking into your bedspread, and with new wave of pain, you open your eyes. You are looking around, eyes lost, and there are hands on your face, and then there is a face in your vision.

She is talking to you, but you don’t know what.

*

The pain is immense, but you mostly grunt and wheeze, fingernails breaking on the figurines. The first time you scream is late, when the head crowns.

You are lost in your own body, so you only realize that it’s done, when foreign hands pry your fingers from the reign – your arms cramp when your hands fall to your sides. You look around lost, and the only thing you see are nurses, gathering in the legs of your bedspread.

They are quiet, but you can recognize the fear on leading nurse’s face.

“What…” Your voice is inaudible, throat dry, and you have to stop and try again. “What is happening?”

No one seems to have heard you, and it alarms you, and although weak, you try to sit up, arms giving up from under you. Nurses are all gathered together, eyes focused down, and the lead nurse has her eyebrows furrowed.

“What happened?!” You ask again, now piercing fear grabbing your heart.

“My Lady…” Starts one of the nurses, but her voice falls down, and your eye jump from one nurse to another.

Suddenly, the leading nurse, exhales harshly, arm snapping where you can’t see it, and you can hear loud, disgruntled cry, which turns in a whole litany, a young child scolding everyone around for not taking proper care of it.

You fall down, now lifeless, powerless. You were so sure it was still born. You were so sure, fate decided to make you suffer once more.

You close your eyes, listening to the crying, feeling how your own tears gather in your own eyes.

“My Lady.” You can hear the soft voice of Woo Palace Lady, she was probably allowed inside, when it was over. “It’s a prince.”

*

It takes really long time before you are allowed to even hold your son. It takes even longer time before you are allowed to be seen by his father.

But he prepared you a gift, a beautiful, much welcomed gift. Woo Palace Lady is the one to bring the news of it to you.

“Lady, King issued an order just after you gave birth. Would you like to hear it?” She asks voice weird, and you nod, eyes focused on the little bundle at your side. You can’t even touch him.

Yet.

“‘The royal first son was born today at hour of dragon. Let all affairs in every responsible unit be carried out according to the proper ritual.’” Recites Woo Palace Lady, and your eyes snap up. You can see that under her firm, professional mask, there are playful sparkles in her eyes. Now you understand why her voice sounded weird – she was delighted.

And you could understand that. It wasn’t your first time hearing this order. You’ve heard it one year and one day ago, when Queen gave birth to her son. This order is only ever issued when the first son is born. For any other child the order was different. Instead of the second part there should be “inform a palace dispensary.”

You try to keep your voice even, and you nearly don’t notice the soft sound that bundle makes.

“Did… Did the King go the Royal Ancestral Temple?” You ask, hearing the blood pumping in your ears.

“Yes, my Lady.” Answers your maid, and you have to stop yourself from doing something indecent. “And just a moment ago officials offered congratulations to him in the main audience hall.”

You suck your lips into your mouth, biting hard, knowing that this way you want leave teeth marks on your skin, and you look up. The boy is barely three hours old, and he is already what you imagined him to be – your pillar, your shield and your sword.

King just did a thing, that though not unthinkable, quite frowned upon. He had his first born son. He already issued that order last year, he visited Royal Ancestral Temple to notify his ancestors of his firstborn son, he received congratulations from officials. It should be performed only once, as there was only one firstborn son.

But Lee Seon, his firstborn, was dead. So your son is the oldest son to the King, and since he is the heir to his father from the moment he was born, he is a firstborn.

Because there is no boy older than him, coming from King’s blood.

Your son is not yet named the heir to the throne, he is not yet allowed to wear the title of crown prince and wear the black hanbok. That part has to wait, until he is old enough to prove that he will survive. One hundred days in front of you – one hundred days to gather your strength, and to gather your allies, because you know that as soon as the One Hundred Days Celebration is over – the fight will begin.

And for now your enemies, with Queen and Queen Dowager as their leaders, will be quiet, plotting and hoping for your son to die. Even before you went into labor you ensured that during those one hundred days there will be shamanic rituals carried out every day to repel curses and illnesses from the boy.

But for now you are safe, still guarded by objects in birthing chamber. You have seven days till you’ll be allowed to go out – seven days of rituals and rites, to ensure long and prosperous life for your son and (on the side) for you.

It doesn’t matter – you know that as long as the boy is safe, you are safe and guarded.

Your eyes fall to the bundle, and you wish you could hold him. In three days. In three days you are both going to be washed, and you’ll be finally able to hold your boy, and whisper all the great plans you have for him in his ear, so he can grown strong and able to reach for all the things that belong to him by law.

The boy turns, and you only see the dark hairs on the top of his head, and you smile, your heart swelling.

Because you did it. You have a son. You gave birth to a young dragon, in the hour of the dragon, in the first day of the year of the dragon – a young dragon, that will guard you and that will bring you the treasure. That is by right – his.


	11. Chapter 11

“One hundred guests.”

“Wrong.” Your voice is so cold that the boy in your arms stirs and starts fussing. You shush him quietly, leading him back to your breast. Nearly everybody around you told you to give him to wet-nurse, and as much as you hate feeding you are never going to do that.

Your son will not be fed by another. _Unworthy_.

You look up again, only seeing silhouettes of palace officials behind the bamboo screen. You are part of the Royal Family, no men outside of it should even catch a glimpse of you. The sole knowledge of that rule applying to you, makes you feel like a victor.

Men behind the screen are uncomfortable and you can see it clearly. They are shifting, sending subtle glances to each other, but there is also Woo Palace Lady that is seating under a side wall of your chambers. She can see both you and officials and her subtle signs tell you the whole story.

“Your Highness…” How you relish those words. How much you enjoy them. “It’s customary to share rice cakes with one hundred people for the well being of Prince.”

 _Prince_. Your son is _Prince_. By blood and by right, and give it seven years, and he will be _Crown Prince_ , by blood, by right and by _law_.

“I understand that. I am only saying that one hundred is _not enough_. Ten hundred will do.” You are calm as you ask for something that is customary not done. But your son deserves that. Instead of wishing him hundred years of prosperity you want him to hear ten hundred. You want him to get accustomed to “Thousand Years” outcry – because that’s what he’ll hear during the coronation.

Your people are a superstitious nation. They believe in omens, so you’ll give them an omen. Is party with thousand guests, instead of a mere hundred, not an omen?

 “But Your Highness… Queen said…” You were palace worker long enough not to show how much that title irks you. Of course, Queen doesn’t want a lavish and festive ceremony. She will still try for a son. She is probably still praying for yours and your son’s demise.

“I don’t care what she said.” You answer harshly, and you see how Woo Palace Lady gives you a side eye. You exhale, looking at your son to calm you down. “I still want a full thousand. And you can go and as King if you need permission to do that.”

That’s how you win every quarrel in the palace. You only need to mention King, because everyone knows that he will take your side. But you also know that is not a safe situation for you. And it’s not a safe situation for King either. Confucian scholars can be easily influenced and they could start protest any given time. Which could lead to an uprising and someone from the extended family could raise against King. No one from Royal Family would want that, except maybe for Nam Sukbin. That would give her a chance to become a regent behind her, now nearly two years old, son.

The boy starts fussing again, and you glance at Woo Palace Lady, who immediately stands up to usher officers outside.

*

Prince is asleep in your arms, and you know how light his sleep is, so you don’t try to lay him down on the mattress next to you.

“Your Highness, Her Highness Queen Dowager is here!”

You wished for a calm afternoon, but now you have to prepare yourself for a fight. At least your shield is in your arms.

“Send her in!” It shows how far you’ve come. Now, even Queen Dowager needs to wait for your invitation to come inside your quarters. Of course, it’s not like you can deny her the entrance, but you can make her wait.

She enters, and you nearly smile when you see her gown. It’s your work. It’s perfectly made and perfectly embroiled and sewn to perfectly fit Her Highness. And you know she’s chosen that outfit to put you down, to rub your low origins into your face.

It does get you, but the fact you can immediately get back at her lessens the pain. With young prince asleep in your arms you can’t stand up to greet her, nor you can move to give her your place, which by right and by law is hers.

And you can’t even call you out for your impertinence. Even if you barely nod to greet her.

Woo Palace Lady is staring at you from behind Queen Dowager, but you don’t need her to know how dangerous is the game you play.

Queen sits down on the pillow in front of your desk.

“I gather _the boy_ is healthy?” She asks brusquely, her annoyance showing. She is the other one that lets her emotions be shown.

“Oh, yes, very much, Your Highness.” You say, truly happy that it’s true. Customary it’s good to keep newborn inside not to allow outsiders to meet him for 21 days, but it’s your six week keeping boy _safe_. Queen hasn’t even seen him yet. And for Queen Dowager is the first time being in the vicinity of her grandson.

“I hear you requested a thousand guests.” You were about to call for refreshments, but Queen Dowagers seems to be bend on not being in your quarters longer than she needs to. Your sentiment is the same, but you still find her brusqueness insulting.

“I did. It’s what firstborn deserves.” You answer, and Woo Palace Lady slowly closes her eyes.

“ _The boy_ isn’t the _firstborn_.” Counters Queen, and you’d shrug if your son wasn’t in your arms.

“Is he?” You ask, looking matron right in the face, throwing a challenge. You can hear Woo Palace Lady scolding voice in the back of your mind.

Queen levels you with her eyes, and shift in her seat. He finally exhales.

“Good. I am inclined to allow such a celebration.” She says, and you raise your eyebrows. Where is the catch? “But you said it’s a celebration worthy of firstborn. _Of Queen_.”

You keep your silence, and that seemingly surprises Queen. She probably sees you as uneducated, jumping-to-conclusions rowdy girl. But you can be quite calculating, and you know what she is going to say to you. You already thought up this course of action, and you have already thought up the counterarguments.

“Queen will adopt _the boy_ , making him legitimate, and thus he will be deserving of such a celebration.” Maybe she is triumphant. Maybe not. Maybe she really believes it’s a good course of action. Maybe she believes that it will put you down. Maybe she really doesn’t want to fight with you, only caring about the family.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but Queen won’t adopt _my son_.” You say politely, and she eyes you, with her eyebrows twitching.

“And why is that, Sukwon? Won’t you allow _the boy_ to be adopted? You and Queen are of the same blood, which makes her the closes of kin. You must understand that is the best way to ensure his inheritance.”

“Oh, it’s not me who would be a problem, Your Highness. Queen wouldn’t do that, because of her _not wanting_ to do that.” You say quite nonchalantly. Queen narrows her eyes at you.

“What do you mean, Sukwon?” You tip your head to the side and allow yourself a small smile. You catch eyes of Woo Palace Lady, who is shaking her head. You really need to prepare a present for her, for putting up with such recalcitrant Lady.

“Your Highness, it’s simple really. Let’s say Queen adopts _my son_. The boy will be the firstborn and on top of that firstborn from King’s legal wife. His way to the throne will be secured. Which would ensure the continuance of the royal line. That’s what _we_ as a family want.” Queen Dowager doesn’t show you that she is following your line of thought. She also doesn’t show her disgruntlement at you including yourself in the Royal Family. “But then, what happens if she bears a son? Her son, for _her blood_ , will be forever in the shadow of a boy that is _not her son_. A boy that is an illegitimate child of her husband and her half-sister. Low born sister. And she won’t be able to do anything about that.”

You see how that realization dawns on Queen Dowager. It’s amazing how these people never think about how their decisions might affect people around them. How they are supposed to lead people when they have no idea what _drives_ people.

“And she has already shown that she is not barren by all means. She already bore a child. One that died, but she is capable of doing that again, and she is not going to endanger her children even before they are conceived.”

After that you fall silent, allowing Queen to accept your words. Because she’ll need some time to do that.

You can see Woo Palace Lady relax a little, and you are really sorry for her. Worrying about you is surely going to take off years of her lifespan.

“Then you have your answer. _That boy_ will not inherit his father rights, so he doesn’t deserve a thousand guests.” Says Queen, and you laugh. You are walking straight into tiger’s den, but at least now you have both sword and shield.

“Oh, no. Because what Queen doesn’t know – she is not going to bear another son. Another child! And I am not about to spare expenses for Lee Yong – boy that one day will become king.”

Woo Palace Lady breaks decorum hiding her face in her hands, but you focus on Queen Dowager who is dumbfounded. Your words might be shocking, but it’s the name that shakes her to the core. It’s not your job to choose a name. And you didn’t. It was King who decided to call his son Yong, _a dragon_. A young dragon that will one day sit on the throne.

**Author's Note:**

> Jeonje - 7th rank's seamstress. 
> 
> Three silent years – there was a saying in Joseon Dynasty, that during the three first years of marriage, wife should not speak, hear or see anything.
> 
> Ranks – in Joseon Dinasty official were divided into ranks. Palace Ladies were considered to be officials, and as such they also were divided into ranks. There was 12 ranks, and lowest Palace Ladies had 9th rank (with ladies-in-waiting, slaves and workers below them). The highest rank for Palace Lady was 5th rank – (what I will write now will be blunt, but hello) if she had sex with king or crown prince, she would be 5th upper rank, without sex she would be 5th lower rank. Above Palace Ladies were Royal Noble Consorts, with ranks from 4 to 1.
> 
> Internal court was led by Queen, it was hers to command, and she was the one to appoint Palace ladies to new positions (she was also the one to appoint new consort for her husband, the king).
> 
> Jeogori – hanbok’s jacket design. Short, usually ending on the level of nipples.
> 
> If a Palace Lady was walking around with her skirt flipped (so inside out) it was a clear sign that the Lady was favored by the ruler (meaning she slept with him).
> 
> Dangui – another one of the hanbok’s jacket designs. Usually worn by women belonging to the kings family as their casual clothes and by upper ranks of palace ladies (and noble women). It’s longer than jogori, ending below the navel, with characteristic spoon-like shape, making it easy to hide hands under it. Worn over the jeogori.
> 
> Bowing twice was reserved for dead. Bowing twice to a living person would mean wishing them a quick death.
> 
> Suk Bin - or rather Bin with a prefix Suk, is a name of concubine rank. There were four royal concubine ranks, every one splitting into two levels. Bin is a higher first rank, meaning the highest rank for a concubine (with one exception, there was one woman above them, Queen Consort). Concubines of those 4 ranks were considered part of the Royal Family. Within one rank there could be many concubines, so they usually were given prefixes by King or Queen to make differentiation easier. Each prefix was chosen upon the certain characteristic of the concubine, something connected to her personality or physique. In this case Suk means clarity/purity. Nam (in case of this character) is her father’s surname.


End file.
